


we could be free, if you wanted

by ChasingTheStars



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Military, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Scars, depictions of war, feelings and plot, teaching au, the whole crew - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:40:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28667883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChasingTheStars/pseuds/ChasingTheStars
Summary: At sixteen, they run away to join the military, hoping to escape their abusive foster home. At eighteen, they’re recruited into the Special Forces. At twenty-one, they’re sent on a suicide mission that will supposedly end a thirty-year war. Neither of them expects to survive, but they do. Their friendship doesn’t.Adora hasn’t seen Catra since that fateful day five years ago. Now a teacher, (and infamous ex-war hero) at Brightmoon School, she knows the new Literature teacher a little too well. A lot has happened in five years, but Adora is set on fixing a broken promise from long ago.However, with their troubled past, scarred present, and a new threat called ‘Prime’ rising to power, it seems they might also have to fight for their future.or, you've read the college AUs, so here's the angsty, tragic-backstory teaching AU no one asked for.
Relationships: Adora/Catra (She-Ra), Bow/Glimmer (She-Ra)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 207





	1. Coffee Stains

_Twenty-one years old_

There’s blood on the floor. On the wall. It’s leaving footprints on the dusty ground, paving their way towards death.

They knew they weren’t going to survive this – they weren’t _supposed_ to survive this. The Special Forces were heading this task and the instructions from the top came with a warning: _suicide mission._ Survivors unlikely.

The army didn’t ask permission. It was do or die. Catra and Adora were some of the best soldiers in the Special Forces, and when they were briefed on a plot to bring down the Horde’s Arms Factory, which could potentially end a thirty-year war, of course stupid Adora said yes straight away.

And, well, wherever Adora went, Catra followed.

An explosion rattled the wall they were shielding behind. Catra slid towards the floor, pulling Adora with her. When the dust started to fall like rain, with shards of metal and chunks of brick plummeting from the sky, Catra scanned the perimeter for a safe place.

“We need to” – Adora winced as she pulled herself up, a hand gripping her side – “get the failsafe to the transmitter.”

They were so close.

The rest of their team had already taken down the building, seized the factory, and locked-down the base. Judging by the radio silence, no one had survived. They were the last two standing, which meant it was up to them to bring down the transmitter – the last thread of the mission. If the Horde lost their transmitter, they lost the war. Etheria would have them conquered within the week.

Once the communications tower was down, boom. End of the Horde. It sounded so simple. 

The problem was getting to the transmitter.

“There’s no ‘we’ about it,” Catra snapped. She eyed the blonde's waist; the exit hole looked clean, but it was a miracle she hadn't passed out from blood loss by now. “You’ve been shot. You can barely walk.”

“Catra, I need to do this,” Adora insisted with a huff. Pain danced in her blue eyes, but underneath there was a glimmer of resilience Catra loved to hate; the spirit of a fighter. She watched as Adora shook herself and leaned in close, taking a few steadying breaths. Her face was pinched; clammy and covered in dirt. Her hair was matted under the visor, but she had never looked so - so, well, _Adora_. Holding onto the last moment with everything she had, fighting to the end. Stubborn and wilful and oh so _stupid_. 

“And I said no," Catra argued. She grabbed Adora's wrists and held them tight. "We’ll put you somewhere safe – you can give it to me and I’ll do it.”

“I can’t give it to you." A shake of her head, another wince. "We don’t know what will happen when it activates.”

Catra let out a noise of frustration. “You and your heroics – listen, we don't have time, either I go or we go together.”

Adora was quiet. The floor rumbled but neither of them felt it. Catra couldn’t tear her eyes away from Adora’s soft, pleading stare.

Looking back, Catra would revisit this moment. All the time they spent together - almost two decades of shared memories - and _this_ was what broke her heart. She knew, deep down, what was going to happen, she just didn't want to believe it. 

She would never forget. She would never forgive. 

“I’m sorry,” Adora croaked.

Before the brunette had a chance to react, Adora pulled her by the collar and pressed her lips against Catra’s open mouth. It was so gentle; so misplaced in their current world of blood and mayhem. Adora moved again, closer, clutching her best friend's shoulders. Swept up in the moment, Catra was slow to respond. It wasn't until she pushed back into the kiss that she heard Adora repeat;

“ _I’m so, so sorry_."

And the next thing Catra knew, something hard and sharp hit against the side of her head and the world turned black.

* * *

_Present day_

Adora was _almost_ late to the staff meeting – which meant she was less than her usual fifteen minutes early. As always, she took her place beside Bow in the staff room, who was happily tapping away on his tablet. He didn’t look up when she sat down on the edge of her seat, instead he pointed at the cup of steaming coffee on the table in front of them.

“Freshly brewed, just for you.”

“Ugh, thanks, Bow.” Adora reached for the cup and wrapped her hands around it like a hug. “Just what I needed.”

“Everything okay?”

Adora bought a few seconds by taking a long sip of coffee. She nodded, taking her time, but because of the slight hesitation, Bow looked up. His eyes tight with concern.

“Yeah, I just” – she shrugged, trying to play it cool – “didn’t sleep well.”

That was an understatement, although she wasn’t in the mood to get into it. If it wasn’t night terrors keeping her awake, it was residual pain encasing her body in a fiery blanket of torture. Last night she had barely been able to move because every bone in her body felt inflamed, every scar felt flayed open. When she closed her eyes, she heard explosions shaking the walls, seen flashes of colour, smelt death in the air.

How could you tell any of this to a colleague on a Monday morning over a cup of coffee?

Bow was different, however. One of Bow’s dads had been in the army and Bow himself was in a regiment for a short period. This was Brightmoon College, after all; a school that encouraged teachers from varied backgrounds because their pupils were also ‘troubled’ in some way. Teachers could be called by their first name, and classes were taught with a mind-first attitude. The resident school councillor, Perfuma, encouraged group meditation sessions and trips to nature resorts. When Adora had first joined three years ago, she thought she’d accidentally signed up to a hippie commune.

“What do you need?” Bow immediately asked. “I can get Mermista to make you some tea, or Perfuma can guide you through meditation at lunch – oh, I could get Entrapta to fit you with another –”

“Bow, I’m fine, really,” Adora insisted. She nudged his shoulder with her own. “But thank you.”

They shared a soft smile. Adora was about to ask Bow about his weekend when Glimmer, Brightmoon’s principal (and, more importantly, best friend to Bow and Adora) walked in, a new recruit tagging behind her. Adora, not looking at what she was doing, went to take another sip of coffee but it spilled it down the front of her white blouse. She swore under her breath and desperately looked around for a napkin – a tissue – anything –

“Morning, everyone,” Adora heard Glimmer begin. “As promised, I’d like you to meet our new Literature teacher.”

“Here,” Bow said, handing her a packet of tissues.

Adora whispered him praise and started trying to salvage the brown stain on her blouse. It was typical, really, that she spilt coffee on herself when she was wearing white, of all colours – and in front of Glimmer giving a meeting. If the ground could swallow her up, now would be a good time for it.

But then two things happened simultaneously.

Glimmer said, “This is Catra Areli.”

And Adora looked up –

As Catra caught her wide-eyed stare.

It was so vivid, the day Adora had last seen her. Five years ago. Five whole years and she always went back to that moment, reliving it in her mind. Changing what she said, doing things differently – as if there was an answer to find, a piece of peace to uncover. Not a day went by when she didn’t think of Catra; once upon a time, she had been her best friend. Her only friend. Her family.

And now all she could do was stare with her mouth open, coffee staining her white shirt. Catra blushed and looked down and, oh, what Adora would give to know what she was thinking.

Her heart was beating its way through her ribs. 

Glimmer was talking but the words skated past her. Adora couldn’t take her eyes off Catra. Her hair was no longer the short pixie cut that she’d kept during their time in the army, but it wasn’t quite the length it had been during their late teens either – it sat somewhere below her shoulders, soft and bouncy, more tamed than Adora could remember. She sported no obvious new scars – at least, not as obvious as Adora's own – and from her clothes (smart trousers and a crimson blazer) to her posture, she seemed well-put-together. There were none of the rough edges that Adora remembered so fondly.

She had no right to feel a nostalgic twist of disappointment.

They had grown up.

They had grown apart.

They had reason to call each other strangers at this point.

Heart in her throat, and mind twisted in a tight knot, Adora missed the end of the staff meeting and was shaken back to reality by a rather concerned-looking Bow.

“Adora? Are you okay?”

“Where did she go?” Adora blurted.

“Who?”

“Catra.”

“Glimmer’s bringing her to her classroom – hey, Adora!”

But she was gone. Leaving her bag behind and her coffee cup on the counter, Adora bolted for the door. She ran down the corridor, dodging children in her path, ignoring the sharp pain in her hip. There they were – turning into the left wing –

“Catra! Wait – Catra!”

She had no idea what she was doing.

Glimmer turned around first, eyes narrowed and lips pressed in a tight line. She gave Adora a ‘what the hell is going on’ look which the blonde chose to ignore. Breathing heavily, and heat rising in her cheeks, Adora watched Catra slowly turn on her heel and -

Observe her with nothing more than cold disinterest.

Fuck.

That hurt.

“Hey Adora,” she said.

But there was nothing there; no tease, no warmth, no recognition.

Only a sparkle of contempt.

“Catra, I –” what was there to say? Embarrassment washed over her like a lilting wave, and she felt so stupid for being so hopeful, so desperate, that this strange coincidence would’ve worked out differently. Nothing had changed. She was a fool for thinking otherwise. Trying to regain what dignity she had left, Adora backed off, taking a step away. “I just – I didn’t know you were the new Literature teacher. Hi, I guess.”

Adora waited a nanosecond for a reply. When it didn’t come, she added, “I need to go – uh, teach.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Glimmer almost hissed.

Adora winced. There was no doubt she’d be getting interrogated at lunch time for this.

Unable to look back, scared at seeing an echo of hatred in her old best friend’s eyes, Adora walked back down the corridor, latching onto the pain in her hip. Each step reminded her of what she had lost that day, and the fact it was still irreplaceable five years later.

How had this happened? Catra hadn't looked surprised to see her - had she been warned she was taking up a post where her ex-everything worked? Why hadn't someone told _her_? Why was she the last to know; why was this feeling like a pill she couldn't swallow? 

Adora paid a visit to the bathroom before heading to her first class. She leaned against the cubicle with her head in her hands, squeezing her eyes tight.

Shit. She didn’t feel well.

Flashes of Catra played behind her eyelids. When they were seven and they first met. Twelve, during their first real argument. Fifteen, when Adora held Catra all night while she cried. Sixteen, packing their bags to run away. Nineteen, when they were chosen by the Special Forces to join their ranks. 

Everything after that was blurry and confusing and _hurt_.

Realising that her breaths were coming in short gasps, Adora sat on the toilet and put her head between her legs. She needed to calm down, this wasn’t good. She hadn’t felt like this in over a year, and if she didn’t get herself under control, she’d –

Well, panic attacks weren’t fun.

Recounting Perfuma’s teaching, she breathed in through her nose, held it for six seconds, and let it out of her mouth. She did this until her hands stopped shaking and her head felt floaty and light.

When she was ready, Adora let herself out of the cubicle door and caught her reflection in the mirror. Her own hair was different too, she realised; she no longer wore her hair in the ponytail Catra had hated. Now, she wore it partially down, with the top layer pulled back away from her face. Between the coffee stain on her white blouse and the dark circles under her eyes from no sleep, she looked a state. Trust her to look like this when seeing Catra for the first time in five years.

As for the scar running down the side of her left cheek, there was nothing she could ever do about that.

Five years since that day. Standing on the podium – barely able to keep weight on her legs. Catra. So full of rage, and yet when their eyes met for that last time – the hurt there was like a knife through Adora’s heart. 

It was something she would never forget. Something she would never forgive. 

But she had wasted enough time – there was a pottery class waiting for her. So, Adora did what she always did; she put her shoulders back, tightened her jaw and went out to fight her demons.


	2. Blush

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: implied child abuse

_Fifteen years old_

“Catra.”

“What?”

“You’re going to get in trouble.”

“So what?”

Adora sighed, hands on her hips, and shook her head. “You shouldn’t antagonise her.”

Catra spun around, eyes flashing. She fixed her hand wrap with a harder tug than was necessary. “She has a go at me anyway, what difference does it make?”

She watched as Adora put on her other glove and made sure the velcro was tight. Of course Adora didn’t understand – Adora never understood. Adora, the perfect student who appreciated authority and didn’t see any reason in openly rebelling against any system, because the system suited her.

That was a little unfair, Catra chided herself. Adora knew how to break the rules, but she always outweighed the risk. Catra, on the other hand, didn’t care. Why should she pay respect to a world that never respected her? Consequences be damned.

“I worry about you,” Adora muttered when she thought Catra had turned away.

And her blue eyes looked up at her, so sad, so hopeful, so cautious. Catra blinked a few times to make her mind catch up. To cover how flustered she felt, how hard her heart was beating, Catra scoffed. “That sounds like a _you_ problem, not a _me_ problem.”

But to enforce the tease, Catra swiped playfully at the blonde’s head. Adora ducked just a second too late and caught the bottom of Catra’s palm. Just as she was about to swivel around and kick her in the shins, a booming voice rang out behind them.

“That’s enough, children. Let’s get into the proper fighting, shall we?”

Octavia was their trainer in the army cadets. Despite being only a few years older than them, Catra had almost clawed one of her eyes out during their first training session. Since then, Octavia was particularly spiteful against her. Adora saluted and said a quick, “Yes, instructor.”

Catra just folded her arms.

Octavia narrowed her eyes at the smaller girl. “Alright, then. You two” – she jabbed a finger at Adora and Catra – “up first.”

Pfft. Was that supposed to be some kind of punishment? Catra _loved_ fighting Adora. It was one of her favourite things to do. The adrenaline of their competitiveness, the way their bodies sang as they danced, and, most of all, the feeling she got when she had Adora pinned to the mat, claiming victory over her.

Yeah, Catra told herself, it was definitely declaring victory that made her feel like that.

Catra and Adora had joined the army cadets a year ago for very different reasons. For Adora, it was all about the adventure of it; learning new exercise techniques, meeting new people, going on the occasional excursion. For Catra, it was avoiding home for a few extra hours each week and, well, the fact Adora was so lit up on it.

So far, they had learnt gymnastics and how to box. Now, they were on mixed martial arts. Octavia had said MMA was a mixture of the two; good footwork and skilful technique. Someone flexible could easily take down a better fighter with timing and precision. Catra had been good at gymnastics, whereas Adora had excelled at boxing, making the two perfectly matched at MMA.

Catra slipped into the ring first, making sure to flick the net at Adora as she ungracefully pushed through and almost landed on her face.

Catra didn’t help her up. She enjoyed the slight blush on Adora’s cheeks as she regained balance. She couldn’t wait to see her best friend’s face flush red when she had her spinning to the floor in a few minutes, forfeiting the game.

Winning always felt so good.

“Keep it clean,” Octavia warned, eyeing Catra, who sniggered. 

Adora took to the right corner, Catra to the left. They locked eyes across the ring. Adora; determined and sure. Catra; loose and confident.

“On a count of three.”

Adora quirked an eyebrow, making Catra smirk. Suddenly, they were the only people in the entire world. No one or nothing existed outside of the ring. 

“One.” 

Catra bounced on the balls of her feet. Her heart started to pump up. 

“Two.”

A strand of hair fell into Adora’s eyes. Catra’s first thought was to help her brush it away but, no, she had to focus. Her distraction was Adora's gain. 

“Three!”

Catra leapt like spring across the ring, immediately pivoting into a middle round-kick. Adora dodged it easily, going in for a quick jab. Catra jumped, bringing her hand down and launching into an overhand attack, causing Adora to bring her arms up to protect her face. Adora lashed out a foot, attempting to trip Catra on her landing, but she missed. Catching her misplaced foot between both of her own, Catra used her legs to spin Adora around and slam her into the mat.

A perfect landing, a jab to the face later, and Adora’s lip split.

Catra was shocked by the flash of red. Blood splattered on the white mat. She flinched, despite being the one to land the blow, but Adora seized the second of pause. The blonde twisted her hips and used gravity to reverse the positions into a guard pass. She pinned Catra to the floor using her elbows and, staring down at her opponent, whispered, “Gotcha.”

But there was a stain of red on her teeth, a stain that Catra had caused. It unsettled her; it made her feel small and ashamed. In all of their tousles before, sure, they’d given each other injuries – some had even scarred. So why was this getting under Catra’s skin?

She stared up at Adora with wide eyes; there was an uncomfortable clench in her chest and a pulling sensation in her stomach. Adora’s hair had come loose, and her fringe was falling into her sweaty face. There was a blush to her cheeks, and her lips were slightly parted. Catra wanted her arms free; she wanted to wipe away the blood, she wanted to –

Octavia was timing her out, but she didn’t care.

Catra had just realised something.

She let out an angry noise, something close to a growl, and pushed herself up – pushed Adora off her. “Yeah, I get it. You win,” she snarled. Why did she say it like that? She didn’t feel full of venom, she felt full of something else – something soft, tender, something sweet and – and – and full of Adora.

She hated it.

Catra hadn’t felt something soft since she was a child. The world had toughened her around the same time she turned her back on it. Soft feelings led to being hurt, and being hurt made you vulnerable and vulnerability was weak – it meant people looked down on you, saw you as nothing, took advantage of you.

Catra was not _soft_.

But Adora _was_. Some parts of her best friend were hardened like she was, but despite what the world had done to Adora, she still had so much hope and joy beyond the defences, underneath the armour. She was a marshmallow in an iron case, while Catra was just an empty, iron case.

She couldn’t even bear to look at her right now.

Octavia instructed them to hit the showers before going home, while the next pair took to the ring. They walked in silence to their lockers with Adora shooting careful glances her way. It wasn’t until Catra reached for her towel that she snapped.

“What?!”

“Why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Let me win.”

Catra gulped and looked down. She could imagine Adora’s eyes right now; so blue and curious, rounded with fragility. When Catra felt the warm pull in her stomach again, she clamped down on it, refused to let it blossom.

Bravado. That’s what got Catra out of most situations in her life, and it would work here too.

“If I’m too good, people will start expecting it from me.” She shrugged. “I don’t want anyone expecting _anything_ of me.”

Adora made a thoughtful sound. As it dragged on, Catra realised there was a playful edge to it.

She glanced up; Adora was staring at her with a towel draped over her shoulder, ready to walk into a cubicle. She raised an eyebrow. “I thought it was because you like me.”

The blood had already dried into her lip, and it was infuriating that she was making no effort to clean it up. Snorting, Catra closed the door to her cubicle with a louder bang than what was necessary. “I do _not_ like you, princess.”

* * *

_Present day_

Catra had been expecting it, but that didn’t make it any easier.

It was the first time she’d seen Adora in person for five years.

And jeez, it had been a long five years.

Had she changed? That was a difficult question. There was a part of Adora that had never changed. Was she different compared to the fifteen year old girl with the split lip Catra remembered? Physically, yes. She had scars and nervous twitches that girl didn’t. Was she different compared to the last time Catra had seen her?

Also yes.

Adora was slightly thinner, like she’d lost some muscle mass. Her hair was different too; half-up, half-down, and longer. She didn’t look well – in fact, she looked like shit, but Catra tried to stomp out those cynical thoughts. She tried to stomp out the reflexive concern, too.

But it was how her ex-best friend looked at her from across the staffroom – mouth open, coffee seeping into her white shirt – that told her Adora hadn’t _really_ changed.

She still looked _so_ hopeful, so – well, stupid.

Sparkles – or whatever her name was, everyone had weird names here – led Catra out of the staffroom to show her to her new classroom. It was still strange to think of herself as a real teacher – newly qualified with a year of training under her belt. This was her first proper job, and she _would not_ screw it up. It meant too much to her. 

Despite this, she could barely hear Sparkles talking over the crushing buzz squeezing her skull, which sounded a lot like:

_Adora Adora Adora Adora Adora_

She thought she could do this but maybe she was wrong. There was something about her ex-best friend, her well, her ex-everything, that pushed all her buttons. She would never be free of her spell, would she? Adora was woven into what was left of muscle in her chest some would call a heart. Even five years later - five years of no contact - the memories and their meanings replayed in her mind like they were yesterday. 

“Catra! Wait – Catra!”

Oh fuck.

The idiot had followed her.

* * *

_Fifteen years old_

When they got home from cadets, Ms Weaver was waiting for them in the hallway.

Catra felt Adora tense beside her. Although her heart was beating out of her chest, Catra resolved never to show it. She acted cool, collected. She didn’t care about what Weaver was about to do – she couldn’t care less. There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do, that she hadn't already done before. The expected wasn't scary, it was inevitable. 

They had barely reached the front door step when Weaver hissed, “I had a call from one of your teachers, Catra.”

Throwing her bag at the foot of the coat stand, because she knew it annoyed the gnarly old woman, Catra said, “Yeah? And what?”

The brunette glanced Adora, who was still standing at the door, one hand on her bag and the other clutching her sleeve, as if it provided comfort. For a moment Catra focused on the split lip she had caused and then looked away.

Weaver towered over her, all threat and poise. “She told me she found cigarettes on your person.”

“Oh, she did?”

“And when she confiscated them, you told her to _go fuck herself_.”

Catra shrugged. “She looks like she needs to loosen up.”

Weaver grabbed her by the collar of her shirt. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you?”

She could feel Weaver’s fingers digging into the skin of her chest. There was no use pulling away; they were well-versed in this tango. Instead, Catra smirked up into Weaver’s scarred face, and trying to keep the shake out of her voice, retorted, “Nah, I just think I’m surrounded by idiots.”

Weaver let go all at once, throwing her towards the stairs. Catra’s back slammed into the wall, but she caught herself before she fell.

Weaver advanced on her again but Adora yelped from the doorway.

“Please, Ms Weaver, the cigarettes were planted on Catra by a –”

“Do not _lie_ to me, Adora,” Weaver hissed, turning on her heel to look at the blonde. “I’ve smelled smoke on her for _weeks_.”

Catra blinked. It had been a while since Adora had tried to defend her; they both knew it tended to make things worse.

This time, Weaver withdrew into the kitchen. Calling over her shoulder, she said, “Adora, wait for me upstairs.”

Catra’s stomach jolted when she saw her best friend’s hesitation. _Move, you idiot. You're not helping._

“ _Go_ ,” their carer barked.

Adora didn’t need to be asked again. She ran upstairs, shooting Catra an apologetic glance on her way up, and leaving her alone with Weaver.

* * *

_Present day_

“Catra! Wait – Catra!”

Oh fuck.

The idiot had followed her.

Glimmer caught Catra’s eye and raised an inquisitive brow before turning around. Catra waited a second, needing to recollect her cool.

It had been years since she lashed out. She wasn't going to show herself up now. 

With her chin slightly raised she, once again, met Adora’s wide-eyed stare.

How did she do that – portray every emotion on her face, like an open book?

Did she have no fear of vulnerability? 

Fuck. Catra had missed that innocent openness. It was what made Adora unique, and it was so opposite of Catra. Everything Adora did, everything she thought, showed on her face and she made no attempt to hide it. It was more than honesty; it was sincerity. There wasn't a malicious bone in that woman's body, and Catra should know; once upon a time, she had tried and failed to expose the blonde's 'dark' side. 

“Hey Adora,” she said, stilted by the emotions bubbling her throat. _Fondness_. That's what it was called. 

Adora searched her for something – something she’d never find, and Catra hated how she looked so disappointed when she didn't find it.

_No, I’m still a cold-hearted bitch, Adora. Sorry to disappoint._

_I’ll never be what you need._

“Catra, I –” Adora’s voice cracked. “I just – I didn’t know you were the new Literature teacher. Hi, I guess.”

There was so much Catra _could_ say. The possibilities flashed in her mind’s eye, and each scenario caused her jaw to clench a little harder.

Staring at the floor, Adora turned away. “I need to go – uh, teach.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Sparkles snapped.

But Catra watched Adora walk (did she have a limp?) down the corridor until she disappeared in the crowd of students.

* * *

_Fifteen years old_

When Weaver was done with her, she asked for Adora.

Fifteen minutes after a shouting match downstairs, Adora returned to their shared room and sat on the edge of Catra’s bed. Catra was under the covers, muffling her cries with a pillow.

“Catra?”

“Go away.”

“Catra, please.”

In a snap of rage, Catra leapt out of the bed and physically pushed Adora onto the floor. Her chest was heaving, her breaths coming in short gasps. “ _I said go away_ , Adora.”

Adora looked up, scared and hurt. When she noticed her best friend's red-rimmed eyes, her gaze softened into concern. 

Catra flumped on the bed with a sigh. 

Adora got up and sat beside her.

Her hand hovered over Catra’s shoulder, asking for silent permission.

With a quiet sob, Catra fell into her, hiding her face in the crook of her neck.

“I’ve got you,” Adora whispered against her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And Catra believed her.


	3. Her

Adora was cleaning paintbrushes when Glimmer and Bow visited her at lunchtime. She was so focused on how the paint swirled with the water as it gushed down the plughole that she barely heard them at all. Her eyes were transfixed, her mind very far away, lost in the past. A blob of red paint stuck to the metal basin, and when she scraped it off, the water turned into a crimson burst. It looked so familiar, it looked like - 

“Adora?”

When she glanced up, Glimmer was already standing in front of her, hands on her hips, scowling. Bow hovered by her shoulder looking concerned. Cutting off the tap, Adora dragged herself back to the present. 

“I’m okay,” she said reflexively.

“What was _that_ about earlier?” Glimmer asked. “Do you know her – Catra?”

It was strange, hearing Glimmer say Catra’s name; two separate phases of her life crashing together, blurring the lines between the two neat boxes of _the past_ and _the present_ in her mind.

As for the question: did she _know_ Catra? That was laughable. 

“I – yeah, I knew her.” Swallowing, she turned away to dry the paintbrushes. “I’ve told you about her.”

“Catra? I’ve never heard you mention a Catra.”

When Adora turned around again, her eyes were shining. Bow, typical Bow, was the first to catch on. He gasped and slapped a hand over his mouth.

“It’s _her_ , isn’t it?!”

Adora gave a little nod.

Glimmer glanced between them, brows pulled together. “Wait, what? Am I missing something?”

“ _Her_ ,” Bow insisted in a loud whisper. “The one Adora told us about – the one she grew up with – the one she –”

Glimmer gave a louder gasp than Bow, almost stumbling backwards. “Oh my god! Catra’s _her_?!”

“Shush!” Adora hissed, eyeing the doorway. They were far too loud for her liking. The last thing she wanted was for the whole school to know of their history.

“Oh, Adora, I didn’t know.” Glimmer started to pace between the desks. “I only met her today – the Governors hired her – if I’d known –”

“It’s okay,” she insisted, even though she felt the furthest from okay. “It’s not fair on Catra – it’s not like anyone knew – I don’t –” she didn’t what? Mind? She did. Her mind had been in the gutter all morning. She’d almost taken a panic attack for the first time in a year.

Not being able to hold it in anymore, Adora sat on one of the students’ stools and leaned her elbows on her thighs. It had taken a while; countless therapy sessions, bribing and coaxing on Bow and Glimmer’s part, before Adora had shared her deepest darkest past with her two best friends. She had told them everything about Catra – what she meant to her, what she symbolised, what had happened – but for some reason, she’d kept her name from them. It was a small thing, a tiny piece of control, but she revelled in it. There was power in a name - in one tiny secret nestled next to her heart. 

Now it was _all_ laid open.

“She seems nice,” Glimmer offered. When Bow shot her a careful look, Glimmer added, “A bit stand-offish, sure, but it’s her first day. I thought it was nerves, but” – her eyes widened – “what if it was because she realised _you_ worked here? What have we done? She’s probably feeling just as upset as you –”

“No,” Adora interjected. “No, it’s Catra. She’s made it very clear that I don’t mean anything to her anymore.” Her hand flexed instinctively. “I’ll just – I’ll keep my distance. Keep this as amicable as possible. It’ll be easy, right?” Adora stood up suddenly as the thoughts came to her. “We work on opposite sides of the school, we teach different subjects – yeah, apart from meetings and assemblies, we’ll never see each other. Right, guys? It’ll be easy!”

Bow was staring at her as if he was waiting for the explosion.

“It’ll be fine,” Adora amended. “ _I’m_ fine.”

Quite honestly, she’d say anything to them to get them to leave her alone. She knew they meant well and that they were just looking out for her, but this was Catra.

She couldn’t explain it anymore than that.

* * *

A few days went by, and Adora didn’t see Catra at all.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure if she felt relieved or anxious about that.

On a personal note, Adora’s nightmares had gotten worse. When she didn’t stay up all night, lying on her bed, paralysed, she woke up from a terror, panting and drenched in sweat. Normal amounts of caffeine and sugar didn’t work on her, so she found herself drinking plain macchiatos throughout the day (with a few too many espresso shots to even be considered a macchiato anymore) and, when she wasn’t catching up on marking, she was hitting the gym, _hard_. Working out was one of the few things that made Adora feel in control of both her mind and body; when she was hitting something, she was in charge. When she was working her limbs into exhaustion, they were hurting for a different reason than residual pain.

It was during break time on Friday when Adora seen Catra again.

The staff room was buzzing – there was cake; it was Bow’s birthday – and after Adora had spent a few minutes chatting to the birthday boy, she clutched her coffee and escaped outside for some fresh air. She leaned against the back door and breathed in the chilly breeze. It numbed the slight sting in her cheeks, dulled the knot in stomach. Rooms were feeling too small lately; walls too close, ceilings too high. Fresh air alleviated some of the anxiety, cleared her mind of toxic thoughts. 

And then she smelled the faint scent of cigarette smoke.

Curiously, Adora peeked her head around the corner, expecting to find a student.

But, no, there was Catra with her back against the wall and a cigarette held between two fingers, openly flouting the school policy.

On the end of her first week of work.

The fact that Adora was mildly surprised was proof enough that they had spent a long time apart.

Before she could look away, Catra’s eyes had landed on her. The brunette didn’t react; she didn’t look away either. She just stared, blowing out another puff of smoke.

Adora should say something.

This was weird.

What should she say?

_Think_. What did colleagues talk about? What was a normal conversation starter? The weather? No, Catra wouldn’t even consider that worthy of a response. She could ask if she wanted any cake – but what if she already –?

“Hey, Adora.”

Oh. The blonde stood straighter and took a step closer. A hand subconsciously brushed against the scar on her cheek. “Oh, hi there, Catra. I didn’t – I was just – getting some air, you know.”

Catra didn’t respond. She looked down at the gravelly ground and flicked the tip of her cigarette. The embers died as they fluttered in the breeze.

“It’s good to see you.” _Fuck_ , the words slipped out before Adora registered what she was saying. Shit. She needed to retreat. Why was she like this? Why did she mess everything up?

Why was she so fucking transparent?

Predictably, Catra didn’t say anything. It was better this way, Adora told herself. A few years ago, Catra wouldn't even tolerate her silence or her presence. 

_That_ had been a scary time.

“So, what does a musclehead like you teach?” Catra asked after a few moments. “PE?”

“Ah, no.” Adora self-consciously tugged at the hem of her top. She didn’t quite have those muscles anymore. “I’m an Art teacher.”

“Art?” Catra sounded surprised.

“Yeah.” She was always so hard to read, but Adora knew what she was thinking right now. Art, in all of its variations, was a _Catra_ thing, not an Adora thing. Growing up, Catra was the one with a scrapbook containing big ideas; she was the one who discussed the instruments in songs, the meaning behind the instruments. Anything that provided meaning and escapism and Catra sank her teeth in. Adora, on the other hand, listened, agreed and never _really_ understood. She had no reason to, at the time; paintings were pretty, music was catchy, the world was simpler then. Art had helped Catra cope with the darkness in life, and Adora hadn’t grasped that.

“Since when have you been into art?” Catra asked with a frown.

“Since therapy,” Adora admitted.

Catra took a long drag. Her eyebrows flicked up. “Ah.”

Therapy. Adora had went kicking and screaming. She didn’t want to talk about what happened and she didn’t understand why a holiday or break from routine would help her decompress. It wasn’t until she was introduced to Perfuma that she realised there was healing through activities such as art. Adora immediately took to it; it helped her reconnect with the whisper of her past through Catra, and gave her something to do with her hands. It wasn’t until she met Bow and Glimmer that she realised she could also make a career out of it with the military-funded degrees. So, yeah, Catra had been an influence in her decision. Which made her wonder…

“You were always the arty one. Music, drawing, painting,” she said, trying to keep the shake from her voice. “So, why – uh, why Literature?”

As a teen, Adora had been a big reader. Try as she might, Catra wasn’t interested in the fantastical stories she appreciated. It was indulgent to think Catra had been influenced by Adora like Adora had been influenced by her.

“Similar to you,” Catra said, still not meeting her eyes. “Therapy.”

She shouldn’t have expected anything different.

“Ah. Snap. So… why teaching?”

“Well, you know how it is when you leave the army.” Catra shrugged. “I looked at the options, and thought teaching was the best. Like you must’ve done.”

“Oh. Yeah.” The army didn’t offer a wide range of rehabilitation careers; the main three strands were engineering, communications or teaching.

Catra looked at her for the first time while she stubbed the cigarette against the wall. Her heterochromatic gaze flicked to the scar on Adora’s cheek and then to her blue eyes. She saw something there and scowled. Looked away. “Don’t do that.”

Adora opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her stomach swelled nervously. “Do what?” she asked. 

“This is nothing." Catra dropped the cigarette and crushed it under her foot. "I’m being civil because we work together now, okay? Don’t give me the doe eyes like this means something.”

“Oh, I wasn’t –”

“I’m serious, Adora." Walking past her to the door, Catra's face twisted in a mixture of anger and pain. "After what you did – just stay out of my way, okay? Stay very fucking far away.”

* * *

This time, Adora didn’t follow her.

That was different from what she remembered.

Catra locked herself in her classroom and sat at her desk, her sharp nails trailing across her scalp until she calmed down. Fuck Adora. Bringing up memories and _feelings_ she thought she’d stamped out years ago.

She was a mess inside. Completely torn up and raging, pulsing with thorned thoughts and soft aches. No, she wasn’t going back there, in that space that had almost destroyed her. She was better than that and refused to let it happen. It had taken years for her to feel like a normal person again, and losing sight of that hadn't been the plan. 

Then again, taking her frustration out on Adora wasn't part of the plan, either. 

Sucking in a shallow breath, Catra got up and started writing on the whiteboard. Pushing everything else out of her mind, she focused on words and words alone: _Satire in the works of Jane Austen_.

Her class was arriving outside, but she wasn’t in the mood to let them in _. Let them wait_ , she thought.

Their voices drifted through the door.

“What do you have after this?”

“Art.”

“Who with?”

“Miss Greyskull.”

Catra rolled her eyes. She was everywhere, wasn’t she? Even when she wasn’t here, she was everywhere. _In more ways than one_ , her mind added, betraying her.

“Is it true what they say about her?”

“What do they say about her?”

“That she’s the reason the war is over.”

A third, new voice added, “She’s also a traitor.”

Catra stopped writing.

“Huh?”

“My mum says she abandoned her post.”

“Don’t they kill you for desertion?”

“Yeah, but she got away with it because everyone thinks she’s a hero.” The new voice snorted. “There’s rumours she didn’t do half of the things during the war they say she did.”

Before Catra knew what she was doing, she threw open the door with such force that she almost ripped it off its hinges. Three small girls looked up at her, a mixture of shock and fear in their eyes. Crushing the pen in her hand, Catra snarled, “Get _in_ here and stop gossiping. If I hear you talk about another teacher like that again, I’ll” – she heaved a breath – “I’ll give you all detention.”

The girls looked at each other.

“ _Understood_?” she hissed.

“Yes, Miss.”

“Sorry Miss.”

Probably not the best first impression to give her class, but Catra couldn’t care less. How dare they – how could they – what? Have an opinion about Adora? It wasn’t even a _lie_. She did abandon her post – she _did_ leave everyone behind. So, why did it incite rage in Catra? Hell, she’d heard worse opinions about her from ex-colleagues. It wasn’t exactly a secret. Adora _was_ controversial.

A wave of embarrassment sank over Catra until it felt like she was drowning. She shouldn’t care what people said about Adora. Adora was nothing to her. Just somebody she used to know, somebody who used to mean –

Catra realised with a start that her class was seated and staring at her. Clearing her throat, she picked up the worn copy of _Pride and Prejudice_ on her desk and said, “Satire. Saying one thing and meaning another.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (please excuse the liberal creative freedom of the meaning of the word 'satire'; I needed to bend it to fit the subtext)
> 
> Apparently, it's Adora's birthday (we're almost birthday twins), so here's a chapter in her honour. 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and support so far! They're a great motivator and let me know what I'm doing right/wrong. 
> 
> Stay safe. 
> 
> Cx.


	4. Granola Bars

Bow and Glimmer were in love, that much was certain.

Sometimes Adora felt like all her friends were paired with their soulmates apart from her. She never felt left out or left behind, however; Bow and Glimmer in particular kept the public displays of affection to a minimum and included her in nearly everything they did.

But, it was a fact: Bow and Glimmer were in love, and on special occasions, like Bow’s birthday dinner, she particularly noticed it.

Bow’s love language was acts of service, whereas Glimmer’s was gift-giving. Combined, they attacked parties – no matter how big or small – like it was a competition; every year they tried to one-up the other, and this year was no different.

After a birthday dinner with their mutual close friends (which included half of the teaching staff) on Friday night, Saturday night was saved for the Best Friend Squad.

Glimmer had transformed the entire living room into a pillow fort; there were cushions all over the floor, fairy lights trailing the walls, and a giant projector screen where the window should be. At first, Adora was taken aback by how creative yet simple her surprise had been. Last year, Glimmer had brought them on a surprise weekend getaway for Bow’s birthday. Just as Adora was about to comment, however, she noticed Bow’s reaction.

The birthday boy stood in the middle of the room, eyes positively shining, and wearing an expression of unadulterated joy.

“This is amazing!” he nearly yelled, making Adora jump. “A pillow fort – just like how we – when we were teens –”

“We used to hide away in your den,” Glimmer finished for him, smirking. “Yep. I remembered. How good am I?”

Bow, shrieking, grabbed Glimmer by the waist and spun her in the air. “You’re the best!”

Meanwhile, Adora watched with a fond smile, feeling a twist of missed nostalgia she occasionally felt with Bow and Glimmer. They had known each other since they were kids – that kind of bond was irreplaceable, and while they had adopted her into their gang of two (a bit like how a couple might adopt a golden retriever), there were some things that couldn’t be replicated. This was obviously one of those things; Bow had just turned twenty-eight and was nearly crying over a pillow fort.

You had to be there.

The three friends settled into their loungewear and fought over what movie they wanted to watch first. Personally, Adora had never been a film fan; she rarely had the attention-span for anything over half an hour in length, so spent most of the time fidgeting and trying hard to pay attention. But this was Bow’s birthday, and they’d already watched her favourite tv series five times over ( _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ , in case you’re wondering; a superhero blonde with the weight of the world on her shoulders felt oddly relatable).

Bow decided on another remake of _Robin Hood,_ and then they ordered takeaway. Adora’s favourite weekends were spent with Bow and Glimmer. A warmth settled in her chest whenever she was with them, talking nonsense and having raging social justice conversations. Tonight, however, she felt a little distant.

Adora’s mind was elsewhere.

“Are you okay, Adora?” Bow asked between mouthfuls of noodles.

“Yeah!” she said quickly, in a voice that was a little too high. “I’m fine. Just – uh, tired.”

Bow and Glimmer shared a _look_ , and Adora groaned.

They were going to talk about feelings, weren’t they?

“Alright, listen up,” said Glimmer, and she physically took Adora’s rice away. Adora tried to chase it with her chopsticks, but Glimmer slapped her hand. “We need to talk.”

“What about?” she asked, swallowing hard.

“You. Catra.”

Adora groaned and hid her face with her palms. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” Glimmer countered

Adora peeked through a finger. “What do you want to talk about specifically?”

“Well, you haven’t seen her in five years,” Bow said, putting his food down. Softly, he added, “We know what she meant to you.”

Folding her knees and hugging them against her chest, Adora muttered, “I don’t mean anything to her anymore. She made that clear.”

“That’s understandable,” Glimmer said.

Adora couldn’t help feeling a little betrayed, but it was fair. After what she’d done, sometimes she even struggled to stare at her own reflection. “Yeah. I get it.”

“You did betray her trust,” Glimmer added.

“To save her life,” Adora replied.

“You left her alone in the middle of a battlefield –”

“ _To save her life_ ,” she snapped this time. “Besides, she couldn’t – she didn’t know the full story.” Pausing, she hugged her legs closer. “She wasn’t allowed to know the full story.”

“Exactly,” Glimmer said, snapping her fingers. “She doesn’t know. Of course she’s still hurt, anyone would be.”

 _And she couldn’t know_. The secret had left her feeling heavy for years, almost all of her adult like. It was the reason why she wore certain types of clothing and she hated beach holidays. How would she even begin to explain it to Catra, who had been through it all with her but was kept in the dark? It would only make things worse. “It doesn’t matter,” Adora muttered.

“What doesn’t matter?”

Sighing, she looked up at her two friends. “I think it’s too late to change things. Even if she knew – it’s Catra. It wouldn’t change anything.”

“You’re not going to change things with an attitude like that,” Bow pointed out.

Adora frowned. “Huh?”

“I’m not going to call what you did ‘wrong’,” he said. His eyes were so bright and sincere. “You saved Catra and a bunch of other people. You helped to end the war. But, you could try to put things right with her. Build a bridge, make amends.”

Make amends. Adora wasn’t sure she knew how to make amends. As a child, owning up to mistakes got you punished. In the army, there was no room for mistakes of any kind. But in real life, with people? Maybe it was something she could work on. “You really think I could?”

Bow offered a smile. “I think you could do anything, if you wanted.”

* * *

It was Saturday night. For some people this meant parties and nightclubs and drinking and hook-ups. But Catra had moved past that part of her life.

So, her and Scorpia sat on the sofa of their apartment, eating snacks and drinking beer. You know, having girl time.

Scorpia had put on one of her favourite action movies to fill the silence. Catra wasn’t exactly known for being talkative. Tonight, however, Catra had a lot on her mind and things she wanted to get off her chest. Beer loosened her lips and opened her iron-clad heart, which, to be fair, had become less metallic and more padded over the last few years since leaving the army.

“Hey, Scorpia?”

Scorpia paused the film. “Yeah, Wildcat?”

The words were out before she thought them. “Adora abandoned her post, didn’t she?”

Scorpia’s eyes widened, the way she always did when Catra talked about one of her sensitive subjects. “Uh, I believe she was called back to duty and refused to go.”

Catra nodded. She knew that. “Then she ran away.”

“Yeah, pretty much.” Scorpia looked uncomfortable for a few moments. Clearing her throat, she added, “Why are you asking?”

To buy time and collect her cool, Catra took a long sip of beer. She drank until the tin was empty. Unable to avoid the question any longer, she said, “It just – I was so angry at the time that I didn’t question it. But it just seems so unlike Adora, you know?”

The Adora she thought she knew would never leave anyone behind. If her superiors wanted something of her or expected something, she would go along with it, no questions asked. She was loyal to the point of it being a problem, and the idea of Adora refusing to go back to service – and going as far as fleeing the country at one point – didn’t make sense.

And despite her better judgement, Catra wanted to know. What had changed?

“Yeah, she was always so loyal.” Scorpia’s tone lowered. “Then again, with what happened to the two of you at the – well, you know. Who can blame her.”

Catra wanted to skirt right past that topic. “Why wasn’t she arrested or put in prison?”

“Well, she was still a war hero. In reality, though, I don’t know. I don’t think anyone knows apart from Adora herself.”

Absent-mindedly, Catra crushed the beer tin. “Hm.”

Scorpia’s gaze flicked between Catra, the crushed can, and the tv. In a whisper, she asked, “How was it this week? Seeing her again?”

“Confusing,” Catra murmured.

“You wanted the job because you wanted to make amends.”

“No, I wanted the job because it was a good job,” Catra corrected bitingly. Then she sighed. “And I also wanted to talk to her.”

Scorpia clapped her back, almost pushing her off the sofa altogether with her strength. “You’ve came on a long way, Wildcat. It wasn’t long ago you couldn’t even mention her name without blowing up or crying or –”

Catra scowled. “I did not cry.”

Scorpia raised her big hands in a surrender. “Okay. Whatever you say.”

But Scorpia was right, wasn’t she? Annoyingly, she was usually right. For years, Catra had unhealthy coping mechanisms. She pushed everyone away and became self-destructive. There was a time that she would have a breakdown at anyone mentioned Adora or what happened on the battlefield.

Catra went to therapy and, sure, it wasn’t perfect. It took time and effort and she needed to improve herself, actively, for herself. Somehow, she had made it through the other end. It didn’t mean she lost grip on herself sometimes – this week had been proof of it. But she’d came a long way.

And with that thought, she felt like admitting her weaknesses was comparable to confessing sins. “I shouted at her,” Catra muttered.

“During work?”

“Yeah. She’s just so – I forgot how difficult it was. Being around her.” _She’s all-consuming_.

Scorpia nodded between mouthfuls of crisps. “Well, take it slow. If you decide you don’t want to clear the air, you can always walk away.” She rested her hand on the brunette’s shoulder. “Do what’s best for you.”

“Yeah.” Catra felt a pit open in her stomach. She needed to take it one step at a time, and hopefully, if she ever managed to tell Adora her side of the story, she could close out that entire section of her life. That’s what she needed, wasn’t it? “Thanks, Scorp.”

* * *

_Ten years old_

It was Friday afternoon, which meant art class. Catra’s favourite.

Their teacher passed around the pencils and paintbrushes, and covered their desks with old newspaper. Despite the precautions, it didn’t stop accidents; Kyle managed to get PVC glue in his hair, resulting in a lot of tears and tantrums.

Their teacher was giving them prompts; she said a word and they had to draw what they felt, or what they thought the word meant. For Catra, this was no problem. Her mind regularly conjured detailed images with very little inspiration, and she had no trouble portraying it on a blank page. Over the past year especially – since things at the home had been worse – getting images out of her head and onto a page helped Catra to calm down. When words and feelings often left her feeling muddled, images and colours and symbols made sense.

Adora, on the other hand, struggled with something that you couldn’t _learn_. The first prompt was ‘draw what makes you happy’. Catra had painted herself and Adora, playing outside beside their favourite tree. Adora had stared at it for far too long while her own sheet of paper remained blank.

“You drew us?” Adora asked in a small voice.

Catra’s face flushed. She knew Adora probably remembered the day they’d climbed their favourite tree for the first time; it wasn’t exactly a happy memory, but it held a special place in her heart. They’d climbed the tree, Adora had fallen, and Ms Weaver got mad; she sent Catra to bed without dinner. Adora had crawled into her bed that night with a stolen granola bar. But why did it matter? Well, Catra remembered how hard they laughed when they’d finally reached the highest branch, feeling on top of the world. After Adora had fallen, the blonde girl then defied Shadow Weaver twice for Catra: once when she stole the granola bar, and again when she suggested they go back to the tree, despite Weaver forbidding it.

Most of Catra’s fondest memories were bittersweet. This one was just more sweet than bitter.

But Adora’s intense stare left Catra feeling embarrassed. She dumped her paintbrush into the water pot and crossed her arms. “Don’t make a big thing of it.”

Adora didn’t. She held her pencil between her finger and thumb, her forehead scrunching in a knot. Rather suddenly, she put her pencil down and pushed away the paper.

“What are you doing?” Catra snapped.

“I can’t draw what makes me happy,” the blonde replied. “Happiness is a _feeling_. I don’t know what it looks like.”

“She’s talking about memories, dummy.” Catra rolled her eyes.

“How do you know? Everyone’s drawing different things!”

Blinking, Catra looked around the class. Sure enough, Adora was right. Some people had drawn items like their bed, or their favourite football. Others had drawn food, family, their pets. Catra frowned.

As foster kids, Catra and Adora didn’t have much that they personally owned. They couldn’t call anything _theirs_. It belonged to the home, it belonged to their carers. The only thing Catra owned and took pride in was her experiences, her memories. Compared to her classmates, the loneliness of experience was overwhelming.

“Next up, I want you to draw love,” their teacher instructed, still trying to get the glue out of Kyles hair. “Draw what you think love is.”

Catra and Adora looked at each other. Love wasn’t a word they’d grown up seeing the meaning of, either. It was Catra’s turn to sigh and look disgruntled.

Love? What was love?

Catra looked to her classmates for inspiration. Most of them were drawing their family; parents hugging them, hugging each other, with little hearts around their faces. Catra felt a hot shot of anger burn through her.

If love was just for families, for doting parents, then had Catra never experienced love? She didn’t have any of those things, and yet, it didn’t feel right. Her mind instantly thought of Adora. What she felt for Adora, that feeling of wholeness, that feeling of being whatever she wanted to be in front of her without judgement – was that not love? Surely, love could be moments as well as family – surely it could be in other people, in other forms.

She stared at her previous painting. It was hardly her best work; the tree looked a little lopsided, and she definitely hadn’t captured the correct blue of Adora’s eyes. But that memory – that memory she associated with feeling happy – was because Adora did something for her.

Why would Adora risk stealing a granola bar for Catra? They both knew the consequences if she’d been caught.

Weaver’s rage was the opposite of love.

Love was a moment, in actions, in words. It was in Adora hugging Catra through her nightmares. It was in Catra fighting anyone who dared to make fun of Adora’s stupid little hair poof.

She knew exactly what to draw.

“Alright, then,” their teacher said after a few more moments. “I’m going to take a walk around and see what you’ve drawn.”

Catra glanced to the side to see Adora with her nose nearly touching the page, finishing her own image of love. Catra scoffed when the blonde girl pulled away, revealing…

A pink floaty blob.

Adora thought love was a pink floaty blob?

Jeez, she was more hopeless than Catra had thought.

When the teacher looked over their shoulders to see their art, her eyes immediately landed on Adora’s pencil drawing.

“And what have you drawn, Adora?”

“What I think love is.”

“And what is it, exactly?”

“A feeling. The feeling you get in your chest, and sometimes it gets so big that it feels like your chest will explode. I think this is what love looks like – I think it’s inside of us, and it makes us feel happy. Sometimes sad.”

“That’s very… abstract.” Her smile was terse, but Adora didn’t look disheartened. She looked proud, like she’d figured something out. When the teacher looked at Catra’s art, her eyebrows snaked up her forehead. “And you, Catra?”

Catra’s cheeks burned. It was quite obvious what her drawing was.

“It’s a granola bar,” she said, flatly.

The teacher nodded. “You must really love granola bars.”

But Adora turned to her, eyes shining.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to have to update the tags to include painful amounts of pining for this one. Thank you for reading - comments and kudos encourage me to keep going! 
> 
> Stay safe. 
> 
> Cx.


	5. Familiar

Adora wiped her hands on her overalls; for some reason they were covered in yellow paint. It was strange, she’d just taken a line drawing class, hadn’t she? So, where had the paint come from?

She looked around but the classroom was empty. No one else was here. When she pulled her hands away from her apron, she noticed the yellow paint hadn’t budged. She wiped them again. And again.

For a moment the yellow paint turned red, and it wasn’t paint at all – it was blood, crimson blood, coating her hands, dripping to the floor, slick and hot and –

Another blink and the classroom faded in a flash.

She was standing in the middle of the Thaymor camp, and there was a battle raging around them.

“Adora, get down!”

Someone pushed their body on top of her, and they fell together onto the dusty ground.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Adora looked up at the familiar face.

Catra. Just how she remembered. So young and cocky. Her brown skin had a sheen of sweat underneath the guarded helmet.

Adora was suddenly aware of her own attire – she was wearing her teaching clothes, paint-covered apron and all. A jolt of panic surged through her. She couldn’t wear _this_ in the middle of a battlefield. How hadn’t Catra noticed she was unfit for service?

“I – I don’t –” Adora pushed Catra away. “I don’t understand what’s happening.”

“That’s nothing new, is it, Adora?” Catra snarled. “You never see what’s right in front of you. You never have. Not at the foster home, not here. Not even inside your own head.”

Before she had a chance to react, two pairs of hands pulled her back to her feet. Adora couldn’t stop staring at Catra – at that haunted expression she knew so well.

“Adora, snap out of it.”

Glimmer was here? Bow? How did that make any sense? 

“You two can’t be here,” Adora urged, trying to shield them with her body from the debris flying through the air. “It’s too dangerous!”

“They’re coming,” Glimmer said. “They’re coming for you, just like they said they would.”

Adora frowned. “Who’s coming?”

But she knew, didn’t she? It was the source of her nightmares, it was –

 _Nightmare_.

This wasn’t real.

Adora woke up, gasping for air. The cropped cotton top she’d worn to bed was soaked with sweat, and her duvet had tangled around her legs. She scrambled to free herself, desperate to escape from the bed, the source of her bad dreams. Stumbling into the bathroom, she slammed her hand into the button of the shower and lost herself under the burst of water. It was cold and made her gasp but she didn’t care – anything would help, anything that could make her feel clean again, washed of regret and pain and disappointment and failure and –

It was always bad, coming up to anniversaries. After the progress she made last year, this seemed like a massive backslide. But, Perfuma had warned her about this, hadn’t she? A downturn didn’t mean she was down. Adora had picked herself up plenty of times, and she would keep doing it. She had to. No one else was going to do it for her.

A little voice in her subconscious reminded her that she should call someone, which started a battle of wills inside her: two different strands of argument, the weaker one being _you’re not a burden_ and the other, louder one believing that they just _don’t need to know_.

Therapy had helped Adora through a lot, but she still didn’t understand how calling someone through the middle of the night because of a post-traumatic stress disorder-influenced nightmare _wasn’t_ burdening someone. She could accept her friends didn’t see her as something fragile, broken, or their extra baggage, but she couldn’t accept that she wasn’t a burden. She had extra weight to carry, and she didn’t want to share it.

Instead, Adora decided to go for an early morning run. If her mind wouldn’t let her rest, then at least she could still take care of her body. With some effort, she may even look human for work later.

* * *

It was Catra’s first staff meeting.

And she hated it already.

Everyone here was so _nice_ and _friendly_. A few years ago, Catra’s cynical side would’ve gotten the best of her; she would’ve despised and resented every staff member in this stupid school. As it was, she only felt mildly disgruntled at the fact people were talking to her with smiles on their faces before 9am.

Catra didn’t need to look around to know Adora had entered the room. A shiver tickled her skin as she recognised the weight of the footsteps passing by her. Her stomach jumped, and it must’ve shown on her face, because Perfuma, the person who was talking at her, frowned, then look concerned.

“I’m fine,” Catra said quickly.

Shit. Once upon a time ago, she had been so good at this – not letting Adora affect her. A five year absence combined with a traumatic war must’ve lowered her defences.

Apparently cutting Adora out of her life and then trying to stitch her back in – however temporarily – had made Catra act like a nervous teenager again.

Perfuma seemed to add it all together. She stared at Adora across the room and back at Catra.

Catra’s ears blushed.

“Do you know her? Adora?”

“No,” she lied, instinctively.

Perfuma’s eyebrows shot up. “She’s staring at you. And you tensed up when she walked past.”

 _Stupid Adora_. Catra couldn’t dare look around now. Instead, she shrugged and crossed her arms, sliding low on the chair. “Whatever. I don’t know her, okay?”

Perfuma hummed in response. “My door is always open if you want to chat, you know.”

Catra didn’t respond, she just scowled. _One therapist was enough, thanks._ It had taken her long enough to find a good one, and she didn’t like the idea of opening up to someone on that level again. In her experience, most of them were just nosey, judgemental asshats.

Luckily, Catra didn’t have to brew in her sullen silence for long; Sparkles saved her a few minutes later by starting the staff meeting. With baby pink hair and outfits that always glittered, she didn’t look the typical image of a school principal. Catra wasn’t sure if she would’ve appreciated the act of uniformed rebellion or laughed at it when she was a teenager. Come to think of it, she wasn’t sure if she liked it or loathed it now, either.

Five minutes into the school news and reminders to practise good health and safety, Catra had to stifle a yawn. Her mind was already drifting to her first class – Chaucer with the older kids – and she was so lost in her train of thought that she almost missed the last, most important, point.

“As some of you already know, we’re having an Open Day in December for parents and perspective students. Some of our investors will also be visiting, so we need to show off the talent in Brightmoon and make each department shine. The sports teams will be on the field, the Science departments will have a display, and...” Glimmer looked at Catra and someone at the back of the room. “I would like the Literature department to work with the Drama department to put on a show for us. Then, the Art department will –”

“Show?” Catra interrupted. Ah, crap, she probably shouldn’t have done that. Too late now. “Sorry, what do you mean by _show_?”

“A performance, darling,” someone said. Catra followed the voice and judging by their appearance – black high-heels, long blonde hair and a shimmery long coat – they _had_ to be a Drama teacher. Talk about a walking stereotype. “A _play_. It’s tradition for Brightmoon to end our annual Open Day with a jaw-dropping spectacle.”

“Don’t worry, though, Catra,” Glimmer added. “We’re all in this together and we all pitch in our support. You and DT won’t be responsible for all of it, I promise.”

Catra felt a twinge of anxiety but managed to push it down before it escalated. Glimmer wrapped up the staff meeting, and Catra was careful to busy herself with her book bag in case anyone tried to chat to her again.

Her efforts were futile, however, because Sparkles was over within a blink, asking in sickly sweet voice, “Catra, can I talk to you for a moment?”

Standing up straight, Catra regarded her. They were on eye-level with one another, so she didn’t feel the need to stretch her body out like she did when talking to a taller person. The way Sparkles look at her though – soft around the edges, like she already knew her, wound Catra up the wrong way.

Or, maybe it was just Catra’s ever-persistent problem with authority and Sparkles was just generally a really nice boss.

Maybe.

“I don’t see why not.”

“Great, um” – Glimmer looked around at their colleagues filtering out of the room – “Huntara, our PE teacher, has had to take a few weeks sick leave because of a broken ankle.” She paused, chewed on her lip. “And I hear you come with highly commended experience in activities like kick-boxing, martial arts and gymnastics.”

“Army certified,” she said with a mock salute.

Glimmer gave a dry laugh. “Exactly, well, I know it’s short notice, so feel free to say no, but Huntara usually takes MMA after school on a Monday. Her assistant has agreed to take over, but we need two teachers present.” Grimacing, Glimmer added, “The kids who take MMA can be a bit… feisty.”

Catra put her hand on her hip as she thought about it. Quite a few years had past since she’d practised any sort of martial arts, but it was ingrained into her as muscle memory at this point. For some sentimental reason, the idea of teaching little angry-at-the-world kids like her made her feel some things. Good things.

Despite this, she still asked, “Extra pay?”

Glimmer winked. “Time and a half for extra-curricular activities.”

That was it settled, then. More money _and_ it intrigued her. “Sure, I’m up for that. I’ll need to go home at lunch to pick up some kit, though.”

Glimmer _beamed_. Her whole face lit up like a beacon, as if Catra had made her entire week by just agreeing to do a paid favour.

Everyone in this school was _intolerable_.

“Take all the time you need!” she said, slowly backing towards the door. “It’s in the gym hall at four-thirty. The cover teacher will already have it set up.”

Catra waved her off and, feeling slightly uncomfortable with herself, she walked to her classroom with a slightly lighter step than before.

The Adora situation aside, Catra could get used to it here.

* * *

Catra did take all the time she needed at lunch to find appropriate gym gear. Lately, the only exercise she had committed to was cardio and basic weights. Her hand and ankle wraps were stuffed at the back of her closet, and there was no way she was going to allow some bratty teenager to accidentally break her wrist without the appropriate gear.

Part of the reason why Catra had decided to be a teacher was because she liked the idea of helping young people like the girl she had been, desperate for a relatable adult figure in her life. Someone who wasn’t stuffy, or unreliable, or _anything_ like Mrs Weaver. In reality, Catra taught Literature to kids who didn’t care about the subject, or were only there to get a grade. This was understandable; the education system was an utter _failure_. Sometimes she even resented her part in it.

This idea, however, of helping kids outside of the classroom sparked a new flame of interest in Catra. In her experience, students only stayed in school longer than they needed to for two reasons: they wanted to improve their grade, or they needed to escape their home.

Catra and Adora had been the latter.

And if you were taking MMA after school? You were either seriously into sport or, once again from Catra’s perspective, in need of an outlet.

Brightmoon took in the strays, after all; an all-inclusive school, who looked at your character and skill rather than your history, background or current grades.

Other schools would simply call the kids ‘troubled’ and call it a day.

 _No wonder Adora ended up here_ , Catra thought to herself. _Her and her stupid saviour complex._

That afternoon, to show her enthusiasm, Catra arrived at the gym hall five minutes early, already dressed in her cropped leggings and hand wraps. Just as she was about to turn into the room, she heard a very familiar yell echoing through the hall.

“Jimmy! Avra – _stop!_ Break it up!”

Of _fucking_ course Adora was the MMA assistant taking over from Huntara.

_Of course she was._

Catra slammed her fist into the wall, then leaned her head against the cool surface.

Adora. Was. Everywhere.

And it was far too late to back out of this now.

Instead of hiding in a dark corner like she wanted, Catra stood at the threshold, propping herself up against it. She crossed her arms and looked at the small gathering of students, watching as Adora marched across the room, pointing at two of them. A girl had a skinny boy in a headlock. She wasn’t letting go.

 _Let’s see how she handles this one_ , Catra thought. Adora always loved telling people what to do. This was all one big ego trip for her.

Adora forcibly separated the two teens. With a hand on each of their shoulders, she asked, “Are you going to tell me what happened, or am I going to ban you from the lesson?”

A beat. 

The girl, Avra, huffed. “He was being annoying.”

Adora looked to the scrawny boy, Jimmy. “Were you being annoying?”

He gave dramatic gasp. “No!”

Adora shrugged. “You _are_ known to be annoying, Jimmy.”

Catra could help but breathe out a silent laugh. They didn’t teach _this_ in teaching college.

“She hit me,” Jimmy argued.

There it was – the tell-tale signs of Adora losing her patience. A vein pumped in her neck, and she spared a moment to massage the space between her eyebrows. “Alright, Avra, you can apologise to Jimmy here, or you volunteer yourself to be used for all the demonstrations today. I have to warn you, though: first up I’m teaching round-kicks, and I won’t be gentle.”

“Fine.” Avra narrowed her eyes at her classmate. “I’m sorry that you were being so annoying that I had to hit you to shut you up, Jimmy.”

Adora sighed. “Close enough. And now you can both apologise to _me_ for wasting my time.”

“Sorry, Miss Greyskull.”

“Yeah. Sorry, miss.”

“Alright, sit down. Since Huntara is off on sick leave, I’ll be taking you on my own for the foreseeable future, so _please_ don’t –”

Catra, hating herself for it, puffed out her chest and cleared her throat.

She walked into the room and all eyes locked on her.

Adora’s eyes, especially, were the size of dinner plates.

“Catra?” she squeaked. “What are you doing here?”

Catra twirled around with an arm in the air. “The principal asked me to be your glamourous assistant, and here I am. Exactly as she ordered.”

There was no way she was going to let Adora think she was here of her own free will. Absolutely no way.

Adora opened her mouth. Closed it again. Her little brain was whirring so loudly that Catra swore the whole room could hear it. The students looked between the two adults, wearing a range of emotions.

Catra smirked. Oh, she _missed_ flustered Adora. It was so fun to tease her, wind her up and leave her hanging.

“What’s wrong?” she challenged. “You know I’m more than qualified.”

Adora must’ve recognised the teasing lilt of her tone, because her eyes flashed, and her lips twisted into challenging smile. “No, no, I remember," she said, drawing it out. "If I remember correctly, though, in our last match, I had you pinned to the mat in less than five minutes. I wouldn’t want you getting hurt.”

Some of the students made dramatic ‘oooooo’ sounds. Catra stopped just a metre away from her ex-best friend and raised an eyebrow. “I had to let you win _one_ , pr –” Catra cut herself off. Her own cheeks blushed as she realised she’d almost called her by their old pet name. “– Adora,” she amended.

If the blonde caught her slip up, she didn’t show it. Instead, Adora’s eyes ran across Catra’s face, as if drinking up every detail. This felt too… familiar. As Catra started to feel the pull of rising anxiety, a student interrupted them.

“Do you two – uh, know each other or something?”

Adora spun around so quickly that her shoes squeaked on the rubber floor. “Yeah – yes, we do. This is Miss Areli, the new Literature teacher, and we – well, we were in the army together.”

Catra looked at her hands. Five years apart and suddenly that’s all she was, was she? An old colleague? Never mind the growing up together, the running away together, the hostile years in the army, the special forces journey together – that’s all they were now: old army mates.

Catra’s stomach twisted at the thought.

 _But that’s what you wanted_ , she told herself. _Just last week you told her that she meant nothing to you._

Well, that was certainly enough introspection for one day. Any icky feelings she experienced from here on would be firmly stored in the ‘save for later’ box in her mind.

For now, however, she would feel a hell of a lot better wiping Adora’s perfect smirk from her perfect mouth.

Did she just say _perfect_?

_Save for later. Save for later. Save for later._

Adora started the lesson by demonstrating a couple of new moves, then splitting the students into pairs so they could practise taking it in turns. She asked Catra to observe for potential casualties and correct them where they went wrong.

So far, it was going well. Adora and Catra kept to their own sides of the room, never crossing paths. Catra was so focused on helping the students and giving them tips that she almost forgot she was teaching. It felt so casual, so free. The students interacted with her like she was one of them, and it made her feel… warm.

Another thing for the icky feelings box.

What she was trying to say, was that the environment Huntara and Adora had created in their after-school class was very casual and, simply, nice.

When the hour was up, Adora asked everyone to gather on the mats in front of her so she could recap on their lesson. Catra stood at the back, watching.

And then Jimmy asked, “Is there no roleplay this week, miss?”

Adora stumbled. “Um, you see – I uh –”

“Go on, miss,” another prompted. “It’s our favourite part!”

“What’s the roleplay?” Catra asked.

“Me and Huntara would demonstrate how to use the new moves in a quick match,” Adora answered quickly, her neck and chest flushing. “Because some of the kids here are under sixteen, we’re not supposed to encourage full fighting, so we do it as their teachers instead.”

“And you don’t want to do it today because…?”

“You. I don’t want you to, you know, feel uncomfortable.”

“I’ll do it.”

“You – you will?”

“Yeah, why not? I’m a bit rusty, but I can manage.”

“Oh. Okay, then. Sure. We’ll do it.”

It had no business being this awkward. Adora led Catra over to the mats and the students gathered around them in a circle. Catra and Adora faced each other on opposite sides, just like old times.

Just like old times. Catra could remember exactly how Adora fought; she knew her weaknesses, her strengths, the force of her hits, how to make her lose balance. If Catra lost focus on the room, she felt fifteen again, doing this for the first time, finding release in the activity. Adora’s hair was even in that stupid ponytail again, and she was wearing a red and white top.

It made her feel a mixture of regret and sweet nostalgia.

Time to punch out some of those icky feelings.

“Today we learnt two new kicks; the round kick and the push kick,” Adora started. “Now, Miss Areli and I will demonstrate how to use one or both of them in a match.”

Catra was too concerned with how Adora saying her name like that made her stomach flutter that she almost missed her counting down to start.

Fuck this girl, seriously.

"One... two... three... go!"

On the word ‘go’, Catra immediately bounced across the mat to corner Adora, who had her fists up, her feet hopping. When their eyes locked, Catra saw the familiar signs of Adora holding back; her movements were too slow, her pacing careful, considered, measured.

Catra made a left jab and then right jab. Adora dodged both. In an attempt to loosen her up, Catra playfully demonstrated a round kick that she knew Adora would easily defend with a twist of a leg. It did the job, though; Adora advanced, swinging left, and finishing off with an uppercut. Catra used the momentum against her; as she ducked, she attempted a leg-trip.

When they were younger, Catra’s leg-trips rarely succeeded – Adora’s core was too strong against Catra’s lithe form. Which was why, when Adora lost balance and fell on her side, Catra was taken back.

Huh. Adora wasn’t the opponent she used to be.

As Catra descended on her, Adora defended herself by hooking her legs behind the brunette’s ankles and using an elbow jab. Breath hitching as the blow caught her in the chest, Catra started to fall back, which gave Adora a chance to flip them over.

Adora pinned her to the mat and counted to ten.

Catra made no attempt to escape. Why? 

This was the closest they’d been in five years, she realised. It made her think about a few things. 

Her ex-best friend felt so _light_ on top of her. It didn’t feel like Adora pinning her down at all. Adora had always felt so solid, so _real_. Catra stared up at the strands of blonde hair falling into her sweaty face, reassuring herself that she was really here. Catra's eyes made their way down to the crooked scar running from cheek to jaw, and unwanted memories flooded her mind. 

What had happened to them?

The betrayal and the heartbreak aside, where had Adora gone?

Why hadn’t Catra followed?

When Adora counted ‘nine’, Catra pushed herself up out from under her. The students applauded and a loud chatter filled the room. Slightly embarrassed at the attention, Catra waved them off and told them to tone it down.

Adora was taking her time standing up. Catra tried not to notice how she clutched her left side. The brunette fought with herself for a moment – a part of her wanted to offer Adora a hand to help, but she felt physically rooted to the spot. Unmovable. Stuck. 

“Alright, end of the lesson,” Adora said to the students. “See you next week.”

The students left together in smaller groups, some taking their time to grab their things. Catra stood back, gaze lingering far too long on the slight shake of Adora's legs. 

Leaving her to it, Catra decided to make herself useful by tidying away the equipment. With her back turned, she listened as Adora heaved herself up and caught her breath.

Suddenly, only sounds were the mats dragging across the rubber floor and the footsteps of the last student leaving the hall.

“Thank you.”

Catra froze. Oh. It wasn't something she had expected to hear. Wiping at her forehead, she said, “I was doing Glimmer a favour.”

“Still, though… thank you. And you don’t need to put the mats away, I’ll do it.”

“I don’t mind –”

“It’s fine," Adora amended, tone sharp. "I don’t want to keep you any longer than I need to.”

Oh. Catra clenched her hands.

They had felt so close a few moments ago.

Unable to look back, because she feared what she would say, Catra slipped on her shoes and walked to the exit. Her chest felt heavy, but her mind was light, as if it had shaken a burden. Before leaving, she turned slightly and looked somewhere to Adora’s right, avoiding her.

“You shouldn’t be doing this if you still have injuries,” she said.

Still, Catra couldn't look at her. 

Adora was quiet. When she eventually spoke, she sounded… annoyed? Irritated? 

“I’ll see you next week, Miss Areli.”

Right. This was... new. She'd seen plenty sides of Adora, but she'd never seen her formal. Detached. 

Okay, she could respect that, couldn't she? They both had boundaries, apparently.

They weren’t friends anymore.

Catra had made that clear, and she would have to live with it.

For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! I had a thought while writing this chapter and that was that I've been using the word 'college' in the UK/Irish sense, meaning a school primarily for people between the ages of 15-18. I think 'college' is the equivalent to university in the US, so just thought I'd clear that up. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the latest instalment! Kudos and comments really keep me going and are always appreciated. 
> 
> Stay safe. 
> 
> Cx.


	6. Runaways

_Sixteen years old_

Adora had everything packed and triple checked, but she still looked around the room anxiously, feeling like she’d forgotten something important.

“Relax, we have everything,” Catra said from under the bed.

“Right, sure, yeah – _relax_.” Adora huffed a fake laugh. “Relax, she says, as if we’re not about to run away from our foster home to join the army. What could possibly go wrong?”

Catra poked her head up over the bed. “Did you _have_ to say that?”

“Why do you leave everything to the last minute anyway?” Adora retorted.

“We have plenty of time!” Catra argued. “Weaver won’t wake up for another, like, five hours. As long as we leave just before sunrise, we’ll be fine.” In a softer tone, she added, “We’ve been through this.”

“I know, I’m just –” Adora put her head in her hands and fell onto the bed. “I’m just scared.”

“Listen.” Catra crawled from underneath the bed and placed her hands on Adora’s knees. “Tomorrow is the start of our lives. Our proper lives. We’ll be working, we’ll be getting paid. We’ll have freedom; no more stupid rules or people breathing down our necks –”

“Catra, we’re joining the army,” Adora pointed out. “We’re getting paid _for_ people telling us what to do.”

Catra pulled a face. “It’s still different.”

Adora watched as her best friend retreated underneath the bed, searching for who knows what. They _had_ planned this to perfection, but now the consequences of their actions was starting to dawn on her. Over the past few months, Adora and Catra had been attending secret army recruitment drives after school and on weekends. They’d passed the assault courses, the health checks – all of it, without the permission of Ms Weaver, the head carer at their foster home.

According to the law, this wasn’t illegal. They had rights at sixteen; they could move out of the home when they wanted, as long as they gained permission. The problem was Ms Weaver herself didn’t want them to go.

When their carer woke up in the morning to find their beds empty without so much as a note, it was sure to have repercussions. Adora didn’t particularly care for Weaver – well, it was complicated, but she hated the thought of being responsible for someone else’s distress.

As she sat on the edge of the bed, staring at their empty room, Adora asked softly, “Will you miss it? Here, I mean.”

Catra snorted, sitting up straight again. Her heterochromatic eyes burned into Adora’s blue. “Seriously? You really have to ask that?”

Adora looked away. “Well, no, I just – never mind.”

Honestly? She didn’t know. When it came to feelings, Adora felt a little lost sometimes. She couldn’t distinguish certain emotions from other ones, as if they all overlapped. Flexing her fingers, she tried to push down the lump in her throat. It made her feel stupid.

The mattress shifted as Catra sat next to her. “You’ll miss it, won’t you?”

And Adora appreciated that her voice only held a _slight_ bite to her words.

“No, I – not really.” She sighed. “It’s complicated, you know? I don’t like it here. I don’t agree with what it stands for, or how it operates, but… it’s the only place I’ve ever been allowed to call home.”

Something flashed in Catra’s eyes – something unreadable. She got up and stretched. “Whatever.” Her nose twitched. “You’ll probably miss Weaver’s favouritism. You won’t get any of that in the army.” Catra saw the shadow of hurt cross Adora’s face. Her chest tightened, so she threw a playful nudge towards the blonde’s head. “I get it. But sometimes – sometimes _home_ isn’t a place. Sometimes it’s a feeling or a person or – you know, whatever.”

Catra turned towards the window before Adora could see the faint blush that tainted her cheeks. _That idiot has now idea_ , she thought, cynically, feeling the need to punch something.

“And we’ll have each other,” Adora pointed out, making it so much worse.

“We’ve signed up to a four-year tour, dummy. We’re stuck together for _at least_ another four years.”

Adora joined her at the window. Their joint reflection clouded the glass. In a tone of disbelief, as if aging wasn’t a thing they were supposed to do, Adora whispered in awe, “We’ll be twenty by then.”

Catra laughed despite herself. “Well done, your maths skills get better every day.”

Adora pushed her over. “Shut up, you know what I mean. Even if we don’t like it, we’ll be stuck in it until we’re twenty. Twenty,” she repeated, with emphasis. “It sounds so… mature.”

And even though she hated to admit it, Catra felt a wave of nostalgia. If they hadn’t been paired together all those years ago… what would her life look like now? Where would she be going? In a burst of bittersweet affection, Catra draped her arm around Adora’s neck. “Just four years closer to ruling the world together. That’s what we dreamt of as kids, right? In this bedroom.”

Adora gave her a side-eye glare. “Now look at who’s being sentimental.”

Catra elbowed her away just as quickly. “Shut up.”

They turned back to the room together. Adora stared at their bags on the bed – in them, everything they had to show for sixteen years of living. Catra stared at the door, finally accepting this was the last time she would walk through it. She never intended to look back. 

“Do you want to go?” Adora whispered.

Catra reached for her hand. “Now more than ever, princess.”

* * *

_Present day_

Adora was tired and sore after the MMA class with Catra. As she drove home, her mind replayed their last interaction; Catra standing at the door looking something akin to concerned, and the fiery rage that ignited in Adora. She kept going over it, trying to figure out what had caused her to have such a hostile reaction.

Just last week Catra had implied she didn’t want anything to do with her. Then she shows up to the afterschool class, full of her old spirit, all cheekiness and sass, just like when they were younger. When they were friends.

To top it off, she acts concerned when Adora’s injury flares up.

Concern.

After everything Adora did –

After everything Catra said.

But this should be a good thing, right? Maybe this was Catra’s way of building a bridge.

It didn’t _feel_ good. How many bridges had Adora tried to build over the last five years?

And now Catra, when she feels like it, decides to act amicable, decides to offer her advice on her injuries she knows nothing about?

It didn’t feel fair. Adora couldn’t switch her emotions on and off like that. At the moment, she was having problems getting a hold of her emotions in the first place, controlling them was an altogether different concern.

Adora was barely through the door when she received a text from Glimmer. Not in the mood to deal with _that_ yet, she threw her phone in her bag and put her bag on the kitchen table. She had so much marking to do; she had to review the sixth years’ university applications and the fifth years’ exam essays, not to mention research for the O’Keeffe lesson next week.

Instead of making a start on any of it, she stood at the window and sipped on a glass of water, staring out at the darkening sky. She had to breathe lightly to avoid pulling the aching muscles in her leg and hip. Catra had fought exactly how she remembered; she had been agile, fluid, strong. It was nothing like when she demonstrated the techniques to the students with Huntara, who just went through the motions. Catra had wanted to win, and Adora…

Adora wasn’t sure how much fight was left in her anymore.

Her phone buzzed again, but this time it was a phone call.

Glimmer.

Adora collected a breath before answering.

“Well?” Glimmer gushed. “How was the class with Catra?”

Adora chewed on her bottom lip. “It was fine. I’m a professional, so it was fine.”

“Yeah, and…? Did you talk to each other?”

Pausing, Adora weighed up her options. She could tell Glimmer the truth, or she could brush it off completely. Adora really hated putting her foot down when it came to her two best friends; she always felt in the wrong, as if her frustration wasn’t as valid as their hurt feelings.

This was different, however – it felt different. Adora had boundaries – solid ones when it came to Catra – and Glimmer had crossed them.

“You shouldn’t have done that, Glimmer,” Adora said, monotone. “If I wanted to speak to Catra, I would. Forcing us together isn’t going to help anything, it’ll only make it worse.”

“I was only trying to help. The two of you –”

“Don’t. Don’t try to help,” Adora rebuked, temper rising. “You don’t know Catra and you don’t know –” …what didn’t she know? Who Adora was with Catra? The full story of what happened between them? As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. Trying to recover, she went on, “I just want to do my job and get on with it, okay? I don’t want meddling, I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t even want to think about it.”

Glimmer was quiet. Adora started to wonder if she’d went too far; her mind was messy, confused. She wasn’t sure if she got the words out in the right order. When she started to feel guilt, as heavy as lead, fall to the pit of her stomach, Glimmer replied, measuredly;

“Alright. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have inserted myself in the problem. I won’t do it again.”

It felt like someone had lifted the weight from Adora’s sagging shoulders. “Thanks, Glim. And sorry for, you know, getting angry.”

“Are you okay, Adora? You sound out of breath.”

Adora blinked. “No, no, I’m fine. Just tired. The class really took it out on me.” _Catra really took it out of me._

“Do you want us to come over? Do you need anything?”

“I’m fine, honestly.”

After insisting she was fine a few more times, Glimmer eventually let Adora go. Alone again, Adora sat on the edge of the kitchen chair with her hands supporting her head between her knees. She had felt so on edge recently and combined with the lack of sleep, she wasn’t feeling herself – whatever ‘herself’ was these days.

But she had to snap out of it. She had things to do, responsibilities, and people were relying on her to be present, to be here.

As long as that kept her grounded, it would keep her rooted where she needed to be.

* * *

Catra breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth.

It didn’t help, though.

These two kids were testing her _patience_.

“Listen to me, Ben, because I’m not going to repeat myself –”

“My name’s Curtis,” said the little idiot.

Catra narrowed her eyes. “ _Curtis_ , I don’t care if you do your homework or not – it’s your future, do what you want. I do, however, have a problem when you constantly talk over me when I’m trying to teach. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Catra.”

“It’s _Miss Areli_.”

The other boy – what was his name? John? Jacob? Whatever, she didn’t care – smirked. “Some teachers let us call them by their first name,” he snarked.

Catra crossed her arms. “Yeah? I’m not one of them.” Ignoring her better judgement, she asked, “What were you two whispering about anyway?”

“Noth –”

“Curtis has a crush on you,” said the annoying J name.

Curtis’s entire face blazed red. It took all of Catra’s self-restraint to not roll her eyes. Instead, she slammed her book on the desk and pointed at the door. “Get out. Both of you. You’re wasting my lunch time.”

The two boy scurried out, laughing as they went. Her skin crawled as she sat at her desk, shaking her head. Ugh, teenage boys. Was there anything worse than –

“So, the kitten has claws.”

Catra looked up to see the Drama teacher standing at her door. She scowled.

Yes, something worse than teenage boys? Drama teachers.

The school Catra taught in last year was less _posh_ than this one, and despite being a trainee teacher, Catra had still been dragged into staff gossip. The main culprit was _always_ the Drama teacher – always oversharing overdramatic stories, and wearing shades indoors to hide a pair of bruised eyes. When Catra looked at Brightmoon’s offering of a Drama teacher, she felt the same over-zealousness that begged for gossip, that fed on rumours.

“I don’t think I’ve introduced myself.” Their high heels clapped against the tiles as they sauntered over, all grace and poise. “Dani Taylor, but everyone calls me DT. I use they/them pronouns, I take black coffee, no sugar, and I’m the head of the Drama department.” They held out a hand for Catra to shake. “The pleasure is all mine.”

Catra reluctantly shook it before refilling the coffee machine DT hadn’t subtly hinted at wanting a cup of. “Catra, Lit teacher. New, in case you didn’t notice.”

DT perched on the edge of her desk. “Oh, but I _have_. You were a soldier, weren’t you?”

It was a school, she should’ve expected rumours to spread. It did in her last one. Teachers were just as bad as students for standing in corners, discussing the latest hot news. It didn’t make it easier to swallow, though. Her hands grasped her thighs. “Uh, yeah.”

DT’s green eyes widened. “Did you ever work with Brightmoon’s resident war hero?”

Catra scoffed. “Who, Adora?”

“On first name terms, I see.”

Catra turned away as her cheeks darkened. “Yeah.” She cleared her throat as she poured DT an extra mug. “I mean, yes, I did.” When Catra turned back around, she took care to school her features into a blank mask. “She’s not the only one with medals, either.”

DT purred. “Catty. I like it.” They took the black coffee without thanks. “I thought we could get together, discuss the Open Day play. Get the creative juices flowing.”

Catra blinked. _Oh yeah, that_. “What are you thinking?”

“Tell me a little bit more about yourself first.” When DT saw Catra narrow her eyes, they laughed. “I like to get to know my colleagues before working with them. I’d like to find a play that suits us both.”

She thought about it, she wasn’t unreasonable – anymore. DT didn’t even seem all that bad. Still, this felt like a game, and Catra hated games, especially at her own expense. “I’m not really up for a heart-to-heart,” she said lightly. “So, why don’t you go ahead and choose something and tell me what I need to do.”

DT tapped the table with a long-nailed finger. “No worries, kitten. How about you come to me when you’re ready, hm?” They stood up and walked slowly to the door, taking the coffee cup with them. “You know where to find me.”

As soon as she was alone again, Catra slammed a palm against her forehead and groaned. She wasn’t in the mood for collaborating, or projects, or work on top of her current workload. She didn’t care about a stupid play with pushy parents and cringe-worthy performances. It was the least of her worries.

She wasn’t even a theatre plan; there was only a handful of plays she could name, never mind explain.

There was one, though… One that she and Adora used to sing when they were kids, one that – not so long ago – had felt so relatable.

No. There was no way she was suggesting it.

 _No way._ She’d never live it down if Adora found out it was her idea.

Cara sighed to herself. She was going to suggest it, wasn’t she? She was getting softer as she was getting older, and it was _disgusting_.

* * *

Adora sat in her classroom with the door locked.

In her hands was a letter, and she knew who it was from by the return address printed on the back. When the postman had given it to her this morning, she didn’t have time to look at it. She had shoved it in her bag and forgotten about it until a few moments ago when she’d gone looking for her lunch.

But here it was. A single brown envelope addressed to her and her alone.

There was only one reason why they would contact her.

She couldn’t bring herself to open it. Not yet.

It felt like a dead weight in her hand when she shoved it to the bottom of her bag, hoping it would somehow get lost in there. Then, she sat back and stared into oblivion.

Adora had seen the news; she knew what was happening. She knew Etheria was on the brink of another war.

And the letter was a reminder of what was required of her when the time came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't get this up when I wanted, but better late than never! I'm almost finished my other fic, so when that's all wrapped up, I will be able to put all my concentration into this one. 
> 
> Thank you so much for your comments, I love reading them. Please keep them coming, they're a great motivator! I'm excited for the next chapter. 
> 
> Stay safe. 
> 
> Cx.


	7. Panic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: panic attacks.

_Eighteen years old_

Catra sprawled on the tattered sofa, stretching her tired legs on the foot stool. Willing her eyes not to stray across the room at the blonde girl currently butchering a game of pool (seriously, the balls were going everywhere but the table), she gave a loud, obnoxious yawn. Scorpia sat on the sofa across from her, chatting animatedly about something she missed from back home. Catra half-listened, enough so she could mumble a response when necessary, but mostly she was earwigging to the conversation across the room, scowling whenever she heard one of the girls laugh.

Adora and Catra had drifted over the last year, and Catra was adamant that it wasn’t her fault. Adora had made new friends, ones Catra didn’t like. Why didn’t she like them? That wasn’t the point. Hadn’t Catra made new friends too? Yes, but only because Adora had abandoned her for other people.

Or, it felt that way, anyway.

A red pool ball flipped off the table and rolled across the floor towards her. Catra stopped it with her foot and picked it up. Adora ran over, her arm outstretched, gesturing for Catra to throw it to her. Dressed in their fatigues – tight camo tees and baggy camo trousers – the fitted t-shirt emphasised the delicate swell of Adora’s bicep, and the curve of her chest. Catra, annoyed at herself for noticing, dropped the ball at Adora’s feet and slumped back on the sofa.

“Your aim is as awful as your hair poof,” Catra hissed.

She watched Adora’s boots stop in front of her. “That’s all I get these days, isn’t it? Witty insults and snarky comments.”

Catra gave another exaggerated yawn, still not looking at her. “Sorry, we can’t all be one of your _adoring_ fans.” She nodded to the small group of friends surrounding the pool table.

Adora breathed out a soft sigh and Catra knew why. Adora hated when someone made a pun of her name (“I get it,” she used to say. “The irony is not lost on me that my parent’s, whoever they were, gave me a name meaning ‘love’ and then abandoned me to a children’s home.”) and Catra had never – not once – used it against her. That was the problem with close friends; they had all the ammunition to use your weaknesses against you.

Somewhere, deep down, Catra felt bad for it.

Until Adora snapped, “When did you become such a brat?”

Catra looked up, then, and rose to her feet. Slowly, like she was uncoiling, she replied, “A brat? When did you become such a try-hard people pleaser?”

Adora’s mouth fell open. When she took a step closer, Catra matched her, until only a few inches separated them. Scorpia jumped up from the sofa, clenching her hands, and danced around the pair making ‘hey, hey, hey’ sounds.

Somewhere, around the edges, Adora’s face softened. “What’s wrong, Catra?”

Scoffing, Catra poked Adora in the chest. “Wrong with me? What’s wrong with you?”

Adora battered her hand away, so Catra gave her a little nudge. When Adora responded with a push, Scorpia inserted herself between the two, waving her arms in the air as a surrender.

“Hey, knock it off!” she yelled. “You two like each other, okay?” When they both scowled, Scorpia added, “At least, that’s what I was told. Unless I’ve gotten this seriously wrong. Have I? Did I misread the situation? I can do that sometimes, I’m very –”

“Greyskull! Areli!”

Ah, fuck. Catra knew that voice – _they all_ knew that voice. Sometimes she heard it in her dreams, yelling at her to shine her boots or fix her hair.

Well, this was bad timing.

Everyone in the room stood to attention as their Staff Sergeant shouted from the threshold. “On me!”

This wasn’t good.

Catra caught Adora’s eye as they marched from the room, following their Staff Sergeant. In typical Adora fashion, her face had instantly drained of colour. It didn’t make any sense why they would get in trouble for a little shoving match while off-duty. They were in the army, tensions could run high. The boys, especially, enjoyed a fist fight over supper. Catra bit her tongue to stop herself from pointing this out at the risk of a worse punishment.

He led them to his private office, where there were two chairs waiting for them in front of his desk. Catra’s heart missed a few beats as she realised he’d actually prepared for this meeting.

What was this about?

What had they done wrong?

“At ease,” he said, gesturing to the chairs. “Shut the door and take a seat.”

Adora hurried to shut the door. Trying to mask her rising panic, Catra stared straight ahead, trying to gauge the expression on the Staff Sergeant’s face. He didn’t look annoyed. He looked relaxed.

“My apologies for interrupting your rec time,” he began. “But something has come to my attention, something I think you’d have interest in.” He cleared his throat as he slid forward to brown envelopes, one addressed to each of them. “The war isn’t going anywhere anytime soon, so we’re constantly looking forward. We’re constantly looking for the best of the best and – well, the results of your field training were impressive.” His eyes flicked from Adora to Catra. “The two of you were consistently the best in your platoons. Your individual strength and dedication haven’t gone unnoticed – in fact, it’s been noticed by a certain department.” He paused, laced his fingers together, before declaring triumphantly, “The Special Forces have specifically requested the two of you to try out for their ranks.”

Adora inhaled a shaky breath. Catra blinked, unsure how to react.

Shit. The Special Forces. Every private in the army _dreamed_ of this happening. It was the _Special Forces_ , for pity’s sake. They were the big guys with the big guns, the intelligence and suave to match.

Adora and Catra, ever since they’d been accepted into the army, both salivated over the chance of joining the SF. It wasn’t until they got here two years ago that they realised how rare it was to be selected. But Catra insisted – she _knew_ they were good enough.

And she had been right.

“I had my reservations, at first,” the Staff Sergeant went on. “You’re both eighteen, which is young to join the Etherian SF. But, if your records are anything to go by, you’re both certainly capable, and you make a good team.” He gestured for them to take the letters. “This is your official correspondence, inviting you to take part in their trials.”

“What happens, then?” Adora asked.

“If you’re suitable, they’ll match you with a specific department, like intelligence, medics, espionage, or weaponry. After you’ve completed further training, you’ll be promoted to Lance Corporal and then sent to the field to work on active missions.” His eyes sparkled. “A privilege, girls. If for, whatever reason, you’re not successful in the trials, then you remain here in my platoon. Although given both of your stats, there’s a bright future for you in the army, no matter what regiment you’re in.”

Adora beamed. She was radiating boundless enthusiasm, and it stuck in Catra’s throat. “Thank you, sir.”

He laughed as he clapped his hands on the table. “Thank yourselves.” His eyes caught on Catra slowly reaching for her letter. “Do you have anything to add, Areli? You’re not usually this quiet.”

Startled, Catra looked up. She tried not to blush. “No, I – no, sir. Thanks.”

He looked uncertain. “You can come to me privately if you change your mind. Alright, dismissed.”

He didn’t need to tell her twice. Gripping the envelope as if it was her only lifeline, Catra gave a quick salute before walk-running from the Staff Sergeant’s office. Her mind and heart were having a race, and with the amount of emotion coursing through her – relief, victory, pride – she was struggling to come up for air.

It wasn’t until she heard her name that she slowed down. 

“Catra? Catra!”

In her haste, she had forgotten about Adora. With a slight shake to her voice, she said, “Yeah?”

Adora ran down the corridor to catch up, waving her envelope in the air. “Well? What do you think?”

Catra huffed a breath through her nose. She shook her head. “I think this is fucking crazy.”

Adora matched her amazement, blue eyes shining. Leaning against the wall, she held the envelope to her chest. “You always said we’d make it,” she muttered.

Catra’s heart squeezed. She stood beside the blonde so that their shoulders were almost touching. “This is on you for doubting me.”

They stayed there, thinking in silence, listening to each other’s breath. After a year mostly apart, this felt so… intimate. Catra closed her eyes for a moment, trying to capture this memory in her mind’s eye. All their hard work, their resilience had finally paid off. They were going to get something they wanted, they were going to –

Adora’s voice rang out. “Catra?”

Catra sighed. “Are you going to keep ruining it by talking?”

She nudged her arm. “What’s happened to us?”

Us. Them. They were a team, they always had been. Even the Staff Sergeant said it. _You make a good team_. It almost made Catra feel guilty for her part in their separation. For a long time she didn’t think she missed _Adora_ , she just thought she missed someone familiar, someone to hold close. But Adora was irreplaceable, and any attempt at mirroring what they had hadn’t worked out. Everything they shared, everything they’d been through, was unique to them.

Catra would never admit it, however – it just wasn’t who she was. So, instead, she muttered, “I dunno. We’ve drifted, I guess. It happens.”

Adora paused. Catra could almost hear that big brain of hers whirring.

“You’ve been distant,” she accused.

“You’ve been annoying,” Catra hissed. At the flicker of hurt that crossed those big blue eyes, Catra huffed another sigh. “I just – it’s stupid. You’ve made friends so easily. I felt a little…” when she felt herself blush, she added hastily, “never mind.”

Adora elbowed her. “They could be your friends too.”

“I don’t like Lonnie,” Catra snapped.

“I didn’t mention Lonnie,” Adora said, obviously confused.

For someone so smart, she was so _oblivious_. Catra chewed on her bottom lip, musing over how best to phrase it. She’d heard the rumours – she knew the gossip. It wasn’t anything special. You put a few teenagers together without supervision on their day off, add some alcohol and worse things have happened. So, why did it bother Catra so much?

“Yeah, well, don’t,” she snapped. A pause, then, “Is it true you kissed her?”

Catra looked around just in time to see Adora’s cheeks blaze red. “No!” she shouted. Groaning, Adora hid her eyes with her hands. “I mean, she kissed me. It wasn’t – I don’t like her like that.”

Something sour twisted a knife in Catra’s stomach. She pictured it sometimes, when she wasn’t thinking; Lonnie making a move on Adora. It made her feel – well, nothing good. Suddenly her tongue felt too big her for mouth as she snarked, “Sure.”

“I don’t!” Adora repeated with more conviction. “She’s not my type.” It took her a moment, and then as if anticipating Catra’s next question, she added, “I’m not sure I have a type.”

The knife twisted again. On paper, Lonnie and Catra weren’t that different. They both had dark hair, similar height, similar skin tone. Lonnie had the added bonus of being more muscular – something Catra _knew_ Adora liked. If Lonnie wasn’t Adora’s ‘type’ then Catra definitely wasn’t.

Not like it mattered. She wasn’t concerned about it at all. Adora had never been good with feelings or understanding her own. It was infuriating. Catra brushed her off with a loud, “Pfft.”

She slid down the wall so that she sat on the floor. Her head tilted up towards the ceiling.

“What?” Adora asked, sliding down beside her.

Catra turned her head to look at her. “How come you don’t know these things?”

Adora pulled a face. She looked down at her hands, started tearing at the skin around her fingernails. “I just don’t… think about them that much, I guess. Not compared to everyone else, anyway.”

They’d had this conversation before when they were much younger. When everyone in school started to talk about boys or girls they liked, Adora had been reserved about the whole topic. Nothing had really changed, apparently, and it wasn’t something Catra couldn’t blame her for. While their peers were obsessed with first kisses, Adora had been obsessed with being the best, being _first_. She was still the same.

Aware of how uncomfortable this conversation made her, Catra changed the subject. “How was it?”

Adora blinked. “What?”

“The kiss,” Catra asked, nudging her. “Is she a good kisser?”

Adora smirked. She had two moods: hopelessly bashful or sinfully smug. When her face lit up in a wide, cocky smile, Catra knew she shouldn’t have teased her. Wiggling her eyebrows, Adora teased, “You were better.”

It was Catra’s turn to turn red. She put her full weight into pushing Adora over. “Shut up!”

Adora laughed, making Catra’s heart swell. When she sat up again, she shrugged. “It was alright,” she said. “It was a kiss.”

Catra felt the knife in her stomach untwist. It really did sound like it meant nothing to Adora. Maybe a kiss could just be a kiss. If that was the case, Catra could get over it.

She felt Adora’s keen stare. Rolling her eyes, Catra asked, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Adora’s shit-eating grin dazzled. “Are you jealous?”

“What – no!” Catra yelled, a tad too loud. “I don’t care if you sleep with the whole platoon. You do you. Whatever.” She settled back down, arms wrapped around her knees. “I have had plenty of – you know. Interest.”

Adora’s grin slowly faded. “I don’t doubt it,” she said sadly. “Then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why aren’t you with someone?”

Catra stiffened. “I don’t need anyone.”

“You don’t want anyone?” she quizzed, head tilting.

Yeah, she did. There was someone, there had always been someone. For as long as she could remember, Catra had wanted _someone_. The dummy was sitting right beside her, impossibly hard to get rid of, and decidedly _not_ interested in her. Catra had accepted that years ago, and there was no point going over past tragedies. Adora in her life in some capacity was better than her not in her life at all.

“I didn’t say that,” Catra retorted, willing away the heat radiating from her body. “I’m _not_ having this conversation with you.”

“Why not?” Adora asked, all wide eyes and innocence. “We used to talk about this stuff.”

Catra scoffed. “We also used to pretend we had a rainbow-coloured flying unicorn, Adora, times change.” When the blonde looked like she might do something awful like cry at that reminder, Catra changed the subject again by waving the brown envelope. “We’re going to get this. And then we’ll keep going. I know it.”

Adora nodded, but with less enthusiasm than before. “Is that what you want?”

“Isn’t it what you want?” Catra asked, her arm falling to the side.

There was a pause.

“Yeah,” she said with a tight smile. “Sure. Just checking.”

* * *

_Present day_

It was the last Friday of the month, which meant an assembly with the senior school.

All the kids were on chairs in the middle of the sports hall while the teachers were lined up at the sides beside the benches. Sparkles and a few other staff members were waiting on the stage, preparing to start. Catra much preferred this set up over the one in her last school. There, they separated boys and girls – boys on the left, girls on the right – which was needless and, dare she say it, not very progressive. Brightmoon, with its inclusive ethos, just let everyone sit where they wanted as long as you remained in your year group.

Catra’s eyes wandered across the hall to where a certain blonde stood with her form group. Adora with a form group? Kids reporting to her, going to her with their problems or their detentions, suspensions, anything really, felt odd. The Adora Catra knew was a fine leader, but was she responsible? That wasn’t something she’d thought about before. She had been protective, loyal, even occasionally accountable. Being responsible implied she knew how to make good decisions, and that definitely wasn’t an Adora trait.

Principal Sparkles tapped the mic, pulling Catra back to the present. The feedback whined in a high-pitched echo and some of the students covered their ears dramatically. After welcoming everyone to the assembly, Glimmer listed end of semester exam dates and reminded everyone of the half-term holidays coming up at the end of the month. When she was done, she handed the mic to Perfuma, the school councillor-slash-ethos champion (what the fuck was that anyway?), who stumbled to grasp the power cord, sending the mic crashing to the floor.

The speakers amplified the crash amplifying a loud _bang!_ akin to a gunshot across the hall. As it rolled, the feedback squealed, high-pitched and frightening. For a moment, Catra’s flight or fight response took control; she fought against the instinct to duck or run, as such was her military training. _It was just the mic_ , she told herself, taking a deep breath to calm her heartbeat. _No need to freak out._

Scrambling for the microphone, Perfuma picked it up with a quick apology and an awkward grimace. Catra rolled her eyes and looked across the hall to see –

Adora, who looked like she was shaking, walking swiftly towards the exit.

Oh.

Huh.

Catra shouldn’t have felt so surprised. Of course Adora would have PTSD, she wasn’t invincible, as much as other people tried to tell her she was. She was human, just like the rest of them, and guess what? Traumatic experiences fuck you up.

As calmly as she could, and trying not to draw attention to herself (because Adora would hate that), Catra excused herself to the teacher on her right and exited the hall.

She found Adora in an empty classroom. She was sitting on a chair with her blonde head between her legs. Her chest shook with every breath. Catra waited at the door, cautious about startling her. When she walked in, she ensured her footsteps were loud enough to hear but not loud enough to alarm.

Adora flinched anyway; she looked up with wide, crying eyes. Her cheeks were red and there was a slight tremor to her movements.

Catra kneeled in front of her. “Hey. I’d ask if you’re okay, but it would be a stupid question.”

Adora struggled to form a response, so dropped her head back between her knees. Catra reached out a hand to reassure her before deciding against it. Instead, she said, “Stupid triggers, eh?”

Adora’s blonde head bobbed.

“Do you want some water? Anything else you need?”

She was silent.

Catra made to move.

“Stay,” Adora croaked, glancing up. Her shaky hands squeezed her own knees, as if they were the only thing keeping her grounded. “Please.”

Catra licked her lips and settled down. There was a chill to the room; it made her shiver. “Okay,” she murmured. “Do you want me to keep talking?”

Another bob. _Yes_.

Alright, she should’ve figured that out sooner. Whenever Catra experienced a panic attack, she liked to be alone and in a safe space with no one nearby. She needed silence to counter the roaring in her head. But Adora had never been one for alone-time or personal space. Right now, she wanted someone to ground her, and Catra would provide it. 

Even _if_ this was the most they’d talked in five years.

“Right, talking. Talking. We used to be good at this.” _Ouch, backtrack. That wasn’t helpful._ “I thought I was dying during my first panic attack. I was in my car and hailstones started lashing down. It was the sound of how they hit against the roof that got me. Sounded like shrapnel hitting our truck that time we drove over a land mine.” _Once again, probably not a good idea to remind her of that, Catra. Get a grip_. “So, I went to a therapist – I’ve been through many, by the way – and he asked me to describe what triggered me and what I felt. Then all he said was ‘a lot of people feel like that’. That’s all I got: _a lot of people go through this_. How does that help, you know? I want a solution. _You’re_ supposed to help _me_.” Catra scoffed. “Then my second therapist just didn’t want to know. She got me to describe my panic attacks, yawning throughout, and then casually said ‘you probably have PTSD’ and sent me off with a list of medication.” Catra paused. “The third one made throw a chair through his window, so I won’t get into _that one_.”

Adora looked up then, smiling. Her breaths were still ragged, but they were longer and more paced. She sat up slightly and closed her eyes. Her lip wobbled. Catra wanted to draw her back, make her think about anything else.

“I always thought you were invincible,” she started. “There’s nothing weak about this, that isn’t what I mean, especially after surviving the trauma we went through, but… I always thought you’d spring back. Nothing could touch you. You were the strong one, you know? I was the one who… struggled.”

Adora’s eyes flitted to the side and she opened her mouth as if to say something, when there was a loud –

“Adora!”

From the door.

Both women looked around to see Glimmer run into the room, immediately enveloping Adora into a hug. Catra stiffened, and said, “I wouldn’t smother her yet –”

“I know what I’m doing,” Glimmer retorted, ignoring Catra completely.

Catra bristled. “Usually when someone is suffering from a PTSD attack, they need boundaries. I know from personal experience.”

“And I know from guiding Adora through multiple PTSD attacks what she needs,” Glimmer muttered. “Talking grounds her. Touch soothes her. She loses all ability to speak and sometimes to stand. Hot flashes and shakes remain until the trigger is removed or the flashback stops.” As she wiped away the tears trailing Adora’s cheeks, Glimmer cast a look at Catra. “She’s not good on her own.”

A deep-set hot knife of jealousy twisted through Catra’s stomach. It wasn’t easy looking in the eyes of your replacement. Better yet, it wasn’t easy listening to the new best friend dismiss the old best friend as old news. Catra no longer knew Adora, yes, did the universe have to keep rubbing it in her face? Catra watched as Adora gently removed Glimmer’s hands and held them to the side. In a breathy voice, the blonde whispered, “I’m coming down, Glim. Don’t worry.”

“As soon as I heard the microphone I knew,” Glimmer went on. “But it’s been a year, Adora. A year with no, you know. Attacks.” She paused. “What’s wrong?”

Catra did a bit of mental maths. Then it clicked. “The anniversary, right?”

Adora studied her for a moment. Her blue eyes roamed her face as if searching for something. Eventually, she said, “Right.”

Glimmer frowned. “What anniversary?”

“A war thing,” Adora muttered.

Interesting. Either Adora hadn’t told Sparkles here or she didn’t want to discuss it in front of Catra.

Catra assumed it wasn’t the latter. So, Adora _did_ still keep secrets. Good to know.

“It would be better if you took the rest of the day off,” Glimmer said. When Adora went to argue, she added, “I’m not suggesting. I’m demanding.”

“I can’t drive right now,” Adora argued, holding up her shaky hands.

“I can drive you,” offered Catra. “That is, if you don’t mind.” She added to Glimmer – despite the hostility, she was still her boss.

“Perfect. That’s it settled then.”

Adora tried to argue, but no one was listening. It seemed Glimmer was attuned to ignoring the protests of Adora, something that only came with time and patience. Huh. They must be close friends. Catra tried to keep a neutral outlook, yet there was a creeping doubt niggling her, something akin to…

Nah. Never mind. It wasn’t worth it.

They gave Adora another moment to collect herself before Catra walked her to the car. Catra wasn’t exactly materialistic, so she didn’t want to drive a fancy car to show off. Still, it was hard not to be embarrassed by her silver tin bucket with wheels. There was a dent in one side and a skid mark on the bonnet, both of which weren’t there when she’d bought it. She could buy a new one, but for some reason buying a new car when the current one worked felt excessive.

That was the one good thing about growing up with little money, Catra had come to realise: you never wasted it. Sure, sometimes you indulged, and you bought something you’d always wanted. But the rest of time, you were careful with the pennies, cautious with the expenses. You appreciated what you had and, with the leftover money you had per month, you saved it because you didn’t want to go back to having nothing at all.

Adora understood it. If she was judging Catra’s car, she didn’t show it. Either that, or she was still too zoned out from the panic attack to notice the state of the vehicle she was in.

“Where to?” Catra asked as she clicked her seatbelt.

“Oh, um, west side. Just past the forest.”

“Near Thaymor?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

For the first time since working at Brightmoon and seeing Adora again, Catra wondered if Adora lived with anyone – or rather, if she was with anyone. This would be an awful way to find out.

“Catra? Can I ask you something?”

Oh no. Catra didn’t like that tone. She knew that tone – that was Adora’s thinking tone. As she reversed out of the staff carpark, Catra kept her gaze strictly limited to the road. “Sure.”

Adora’s voice was very quiet. “Why are you being so… nice to me?”

Oh. Well. That was the internal conflict she was having with herself, wasn’t it? One minute she was telling Adora to leave her alone, that nothing had changed, and the next she was helping out with after-school activities and giving her rides home.

Almost like she cared again.

Old Catra, past Catra with the insecurities and pent-up anger, would’ve reversed the tables. She would’ve made a joke, put the blame on Adora for asking a stupid question. Not anymore. She wasn’t the same person, just like Adora had changed too.

“I’m being civil. I – I don’t want to fight with you, Adora. Not anymore. I’m sorry about what I said before. I’m trying to be a better person – I’m trying to be more patient and well, kind. Sometimes my old self creeps back in.”

“Your new self – has she changed much?”

“Not as much as I’d like.” Catra bit back a laugh. When she didn’t hear Adora match her reaction, her eyes flicked to her. “What about you?”

Adora’s brows raised, and she looked like she’d never considered it before. “Since we last” – she cut herself off, shaking her head – “since you saw me last? Sometimes I feel like an entirely different person. Other times, I feel like I’m still the same sixteen-year-old that ran away with you.”

“Huh.” A lump swelled in Catra’s throat. “I think I know what you mean.”

They were invaded by silence, but it wasn’t the negative kind. Catra was desperately trying to swallow away the lump in her throat. The idea that they were still _themselves_ , whole and untouched, as they were at sixteen, innocently running away from one institution to another, hoping this time it would be different… it touched something soft and delicate inside her. Catra hadn’t been than naïve in a long time, but she still felt like she could be fooled into thinking she was.

“I’m sorry,” Adora said suddenly.

Catra’s heart skipped a beat. “For what?”

Pausing, Adora took her time, as if trying to figure it out. “For this,” she said eventually. “Being a nuisance.”

Oh. For a moment Catra had thought she was apologising for something else entirely. To cover up the confusion, she teased, “It’s good to know _that_ hasn’t changed.”

“It’s good to know you’re still a smart ass,” shot back Adora with a cheeky smile.

Catra shook her head at that. When Adora pointed out that they were close to her street, Catra absolutely denied the feeling of regret pooling her stomach. What should she do – offer that they chat over a coffee? Ask if Adora would want to see her outside of school? Leave it all alone and spend the rest of the day chiding herself for not allowing herself this, this moment to heal things between them?

Catra wanted to talk but she wasn’t good at talking. She didn’t know how to instigate this – all she knew was that she needed to do this for herself. She couldn’t move on until she did.

Instead, all she said when she pulled into Adora’s street was, “Is this you?”

“Yeah. The one with the red door.”

Time was ticking away from them. Trying to stall her inevitable departure, Catra asked, “Are you going to be alright?”

Adora’s smile was tight, and she did her best to hide the tremor in her hands. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’m sure you have somebody in there waiting to fuss over you, anyway.” After she said it, Catra had no idea _why_ she said it. She really was just pushing her luck at this point, being nosy. Doing anything to avoid the topic she was really interested in.

“Oh, no,” Adora replied, a bit surprised. “I live alone, actually.”

Catra stalled. “You? Living alone?”

“For a year or two now. I used to live with Glimmer and Bow, but then they became a couple and wanted to spread their wings, so I got my own place.” She looked out of the window, towards the house. “It’s nice. My kooky old neighbour bakes me a pie every other weekend.”

It sounded like she was holding back, but Catra had pried enough already. “You’re not selling it to me, for some reason.”

“Shut up.” Adora laughed and shrugged it off. “It could be worse.”

Well, here she was, staring a natural moment for departure in the face and doing her best to keep conversation going. What could she say? Where could she go from here? _Just ask her, idiot,_ the little logical voice in her head said. Instead, Catra blurted, “I live with Scorpia.”

For some reason, this factoid made Adora frown. She tugged the end of her sleeve and glanced down. “Oh. I didn’t know.”

Ah – what? Had she said something? Why did Adora react like that? Suddenly she felt awkward. “Yeah.”

“Is she still serving?”

“She was, until last year. Once she heard about this new threat coming up – Prime, or whatever – she decided to get out while she could.” Catra paused, still unable to read Adora’s expression. “I don’t think any of our old crew would stick around for another war.”

Once again, Adora blanched. “No. I don’t think” – her voice cut off and she swallowed to recollect herself – “I don’t think they would. Well, I’m… I’m happy for you.”

Catra wasn’t sure why she was saying that. “…Thanks.”

“I should – thanks, Catra. For the lift.”

“Yeah – I, uh, yeah. See you tomorrow.”

It wasn’t until Catra drove away that it hit her – she’d borught up Scorpia, randomly, after Adora had mentioned living alone because her friends were together. The idiot probably thought that was Catra telling her that she was with Scorpia. Ah, fuck. What a disaster. Stupid fucking –

But still, Catra couldn’t help but laugh. After all this time and everything that had happened, they were both so… useless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and sorry for the gap between updates, life kinda happened. 
> 
> I will start replying to comments again next time, but I appreciate every single one of you. Reading comments and getting kudos really brightens my (very boring) day. 
> 
> This fic is only going to get more angsty before it gets better, so hold on tight, folks!
> 
> Until next time (which will be sooner!) stay safe. 
> 
> Cx.

**Author's Note:**

> Context for context sake: in my mind, this is set in modern day earth, but Eternia and Etheria are two countries at war with one another, and the Horde has occupied land in Etheria. For those who don't know about the special forces, they're an elite section of the military that deal with special, sometimes undercover, operations. 
> 
> It's my first time writing for She-Ra, but just so you know, my writing style tends to be 'pain with plot', so I hope you're ready for the wild ride. I hope to update quite regularly; if not twice a week, definitely once per week. 
> 
> I have a playlist for this fic here: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1Huy51wvbvK1xUsLGhHnpv?si=a3viXy__RrSZ_mMgroYEEQ
> 
> If you enjoyed the first chapter and want more, drop a comment and kudos are always welcome. 
> 
> Stay safe. 
> 
> Cx.


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